


Scandaleux

by daphnerunning, Galiko



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: AU, Consensual Kink, Daddy Kink, Incest, M/M, Modern AU, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-26 05:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 85,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daphnerunning/pseuds/daphnerunning, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galiko/pseuds/Galiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sindria Studios has blossomed into one hell of a pornography studio over the years--the problem is, they need someone special. Kou Studios, of course, has the perfect star, young and fresh no matter what he does, and Sinbad would give an arm and a leg to get his hands on Judal, just for one film--or barring that, get his cute secretary in his bed with the camera rolling... Modern AU for laughs and kicks, unestablished Sinja for once!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There’s something missing.

 

Sinbad watches the video back over again, brows furrowed in consternation. No, everything certainly looks good--the performers had been on their game, the lighting was perfect, the sound work...satisfactory. 

 

But there could be more.

 

Irritably, he hits play on the DVD player, watching the young man shimmy up a thick cock, eyes half-closed in what is either unfeigned pleasure or the best damned acting Sinbad’s ever seen, whining when he’s pulled off to have his face shoved on another man’s dick. _That’s what we’re missing. And his keeper is hardly going to let him out of the playpen,_ he thinks in annoyance, flicking a disgusted glare at the Kou Studios logo on the back of the case.

 

If only Sindria could get their hands on someone like that, someone genuine and naturally sexy, someone with some proper meat on them in all the right places, someone who stayed fresh and new no matter how many times he appeared…

 

Sinbad casts a glance at Ja’far, then waves a hand. “Come up with me to the roof? I’m dying for a smoke.”

 

Ja'far isn't a smoker. He tells himself this, no matter how the word _smoke_ makes him lift his head, fingers pausing in their ceaseless typing. No, it's stress relief only, he tells himself. It isn't as if he ever buys cigarettes, anyway. 

 

He just borrows Sinbad's.

 

"Fine. When we get back, there's quite a bit for you to sign." Ja'far pushes up from his chair, brushing off imaginary dust from the oversized sweater that keeps off the relative chill of the office--and deters one too many wandering eyes that seem to exist, for one reason or another. A useful thing, when one simply does the _books_ for a pornography (sorry, _modeling,_ wasn't that the more PC term?) studio. "You need to stop watching those videos over and over again to procrastinate." 

 

“Not procrastinating. Just...looking.” Sinbad shakes his hair back, an old ingrained habit by now, and tries to think the whole elevator ride up to the roof. At least it’s light late at night now, or maybe the sky over such a polluted city always glows orange. He’s never really noticed the difference. He lights up a cigarette, letting it dangle from his fingers, and takes a long drag. It’s probably the last one he’ll get, he knows.

 

"The separation from work and pleasure never has occurred to you, has it?" Ja'far reaches out, swiftly plucking the lit cigarette from Sinbad's hold. "Let it go, Sin. The longer you stare at him, the longer that kid is _never_ going to drop the idea of _you_." 

 

“I want him. I know, I know, I’ve heard he’s hell on studios, but you can’t deny he has draw. Hell, you know how easy it is for me to forget a new face,” he admits without a shred of shame. “But I can’t get him out of my head. Have you heard back from Kouen about whether he’ll agree to an exemption?”

 

"I don't watch his videos, I wouldn't know," is Ja'far's dry retort. "All I know is that he's a pain to keep, and far more interested in having sex _with you_ than actually doing it on camera for you. Do you _really_ want to deal with that? No, of course you do, don't answer that." He takes a long, shaky drag from the cigarette before exhaling slowly. "And no, Kouen ignores every e-mail, every call."

 

“I’ll never understand,” Sinbad mutters, snatching the cigarette back for a long drag, “how you can work in this industry for the better part of a decade and still not have the slightest bit of curiosity about it. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you still didn’t have any idea what sex was all about.”

 

Ja'far offers him a bland stare. "Sex doesn't interest me. That should be a good thing, considering it allows me to have a clear mind while dealing with all of your ridiculous bookkeeping." 

 

“I don’t see what makes it any more ridiculous than the bookkeeping in any other line of work. Besides,” he adds, “one of these days I’ll figure out when you have time for a personal life. You have to get out _some_ time.”

 

"No. I don't. Now give that back," Ja'far orders. "Or at least light me a new one." 

 

Sinbad flicks the butt off the roof, pulling out a new cigarette and lighting it. “You smoke too fast,” he says around the filter, then plucks it from his mouth and holds it against Ja’far’s lips. “You’ve got to slow down, learn to enjoy things more.”

 

"I'm not doing this for my health," is the low, annoyed mutter to follow, Ja'far's lips closing around the cigarette to inhale slowly as he lifts his hand to pluck it from Sinbad's grasp entirely. "I _enjoy_ having things done on time, unlike you." 

 

“Don’t think of your health, think how much cigarettes cost,” Sinbad mutters. His hand closes around Ja’far’s, thumb stroking slowly over the back of his hand. “You know being elusive only makes me want you more.”

 

"I never buy them," Ja'far rather smugly points out, and he bats Sinbad's hand away without another thought. " _Why_ that's the case, I will ever understand. I blend in with your furniture, go enjoy yourself with any number of blonde supermodels that like stroking your muscles in public."

 

“I do. What _I_ don’t understand is why you seem to think that sating my urges for blonde supermodels is going to sate my lust for you.” Sinbad snatches the cigarette back for a drag, then hands it back. “Like trying to appease a sweet tooth with pizza.”

 

Ja'far rolls his eyes skyward, and promptly exhales smoke into Sinbad's face. "Appease your sweet tooth with someone else. What is with you and wanting things that you cannot have?" 

 

Sinbad smiles through the smoke. “I’m accustomed to _getting_ the things I cannot have,” he says simply. “It’s something of a talent I’ve always had. A studio of my own, for example--or you to work for me.”

 

"But not Kouen's new favorite star." 

 

Now the smile turns to a scowl, and Sinbad grunts out, “So far. You should know me better than to think I’ve given up. Besides,” he adds, giving up and lighting himself a cigarette, despairing of ever getting the other one out of Ja’far’s nimble hands, “he’ll come around. Unless he’s stupid, anyone can see working for me is better than working for him.”

 

Ja'far shrugs, flicking away ash with a twitch of his fingers. "Just as long as your attention isn't wholly focused on him. All you've been doing lately is watching his videos over and over. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you had a crush on him." 

 

“He would be an asset,” Sinbad says slowly, and wonders why he’s even bothering to deny it. Because it isn’t a crush, maybe. Or at least, it isn’t _just_ that. “Doesn’t he look...lonely to you? More than usual in this business, I mean. Never mind, you’re just going to say it’s all an act.”

 

" _You_ just like anything young that looks like you can take it home and put it in your pocket."

 

“Yes,” Sinbad admits without hesitation. “But….oh, forget it.” He stabs out the butt of his cigarette, flicking it off the roof, and turns. “Let’s go take care of the rest of that paperwork to get my mind off things I can’t have.”

 

"… If you want him _that_ badly, why not try to get ahold of him directly again?" Ja'far exasperatedly replies, flicking away his own cigarette butt with a shake of his head. "I know how you are, you'll never concentrate until you get this out of your mind." 

 

“His contract prohibits him from going out of studio, and Kouen won’t make an exception. And if I know Kouen, he’ll have put lots of stuff in that contract to keep him away from me--you know what I mean, people like me, poachers.” His mouth twists for a moment, then he says, “I’m half-tempted to put you on the case and ask you to find a loophole there to get him out. I’m sure I could convince him if you did.”

 

"It doesn't say anything about you calling him up and asking him out on a date--you know, _outside_ of studio work." Ja'far shrugs lightly. "Not that I've already looked or anything on the possibility I'll have to have a suggestion to keep you from going insane." 

 

Sinbad grabs at his pocket. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

 

"Left front of your jacket," Ja'far mildly points out. "Give me another cigarette for my trouble."

 

Sinbad closes his fingers around his phone in relief, then lights another cigarette, plucking it from his lips and handing it over. “That should last you another ten seconds. Wish I could get you to smoke on camera, you look damn sexy when you do.”

 

"You need glasses," Ja'far sighs at him, taking the cigarette gratefully nonetheless. "Do you have his number still? You call him while I go and get back to work, I want no part in this." 

 

Already dialing. Sinbad nods his head. “Yeah, go on. I’ll come down to sexually harass you later.” He dials, and holds the phone to his ear, leaning over the edge of the roof.

 

The look Ja'far offers him is decidedly put out, though he doesn't comment save for a shake of his head as he walks away. 

 

It takes but a ring for the other end of the line to pick up. "Sinbad? Is that you?" And the voice is very, very excited about it. "Hey, you reeeeally shouldn't have your secretary-thing call anymore, they said they're gonna set a new voicemail message and start being dicks to you guys if he does." 

 

Sinbad sighs, but even that much of Judal’s voice is enough to put him in a better mood. “Hey, kid. Forget about my secretary calling you guys, I’ll call him off. Say, you want to have dinner with me tonight?”

 

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "If this is about doing a video for you," is Judal's unhappily slow response, "you know I can't. Kouen pointed out like, fifteen different points in the contract today where it says I can't, so…"

 

“Yeah, I’ve heard. Damn shame, you’d be my star in a heartbeat, it would humiliate the boys I’ve got now.” _Sorry, boys._ “But this is just about dinner. You, me, a restaurant? Or here, we can picnic or something. Does Kouen let you eat?”

 

"He lets me eat! I'll go anywhere you want!" It's nearly audible how he all but _bounces_. "Though--um, can you pick me up? It'd be a little too obvious what I was doing, if I waited for a cab all this time or something--"

 

Sinbad can’t help the smile curling his lips. Goddamn, but Judal is _cute_. Not his usual type, not at all, but there’s something magnetic about the boy. “I’ll pick you up,” he promises, starting down the stairs. “Be outside the back door, I’ll come for you in fifteen.”

 

"Okay!" 

 

There's no stopping him from feeling _giddy_. Never mind that he's barely been able to spend any time with the man, there's something about Sinbad that makes Judal _want_. It takes a few minutes to grab his coat and sneak out, avoiding the vast majority of the staff in the process, and he slips out the back door, sighing as he tries to fix his hair and thumb away a bit of smudged eyeliner while he waits. 

 

If Sinbad had called any other time, maybe he could have gotten dressed up and maybe they could go somewhere _nice_. But not too nice, nothing like the stuffy places Kouen tries to drag him from time to time. Nice like somewhere fun. That's probably what it is, Judal decides. Sinbad actually seems like he'd be _fun_. Minus the bitchy secretary, at any rate.

 

Sinbad narrowly dodges a couple pressing matters on the way out--leave Ja’far to point out the obvious errors in the Saluja kid’s fake ID, that’s not something he wants to personally deal with--and ten minutes later, a sleek black car pulls up behind the Kou Studios lot. Damn, Judal is so _cute_ , all bundled up against the cold like an overstuffed marshmallow.

 

Even if he wants to get out and open up the door for Judal, he wouldn’t put it past Kouen to have cameras back here, and it’s safer behind the tinted glass. He waves at Judal, clicking the door unlocked.

 

Immediately, Judal leaps forward, sparing a last, wary glance back to make sure no one is _following_ before he jumps into the car, settling down into the leather seat with a pointed little shiver. "It's _cold_ and that was definitely longer than fifteen!" he whines, pouting over at Sinbad from over his tightly wound scarf. 

 

“It was barely twelve.” Sinbad can’t resist the urge to reach out, ruffling a hand through the short, flyaway strands at the top of Judal’s head. “Do you always look this cute, or just when you know I’m coming to see you?” He pulls smoothly into traffic, barely resisting the urge to reach over and put an arm around Judal.

 

Judal beams. "You think I'm cute? Kouen says I look like I'm 10 when I'm dressed like this, not sexy." It's really, really hard not to lean over and nuzzle his face into Sinbad's shoulder, _especially_ when he can tell the man smells really nice and maybe a little smoky from cigarettes. "Hey, I bet you've got a nice place. We could go there, you don't have to take me out anywhere." _Probably better if you don't, they'll find out a lot easier._

 

“You don’t look ten. I’ve seen too many of your videos to think you’re ten.” Sinbad starts to drive downtown, and swerves before the turn, heading uptown instead. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take you to my place. I can actually cook, believe it or not. Sort of.”

 

"You actually watched a lot of them?" Now he _really_ can't help but beam, leaning over closer. "What'd you think? Good, huh? Kouen says I'm the best he's had in awhile, I'm gonna make his studio reeeaally popular."

 

“A while?” Sinbad snorts. “You’re the best he’s ever had. You’re the best that whole studio’s ever had, come to think of it. I’ve read your contract, he’s not paying you half of what you’re worth. You’re making what stars made ten years ago."

 

Judal's face falls at that, and he sits back with a huff. "I'm still making good money," he insists, loosening his scarf as he starts to unthaw. "Kouen treats me well, he always has shoots for me, it's good."

 

“Of course he treats you well, you’re the best star he’s ever had.” Sinbad grins, reaching over to tug on the end of Judal’s scarf. “Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous he found you first.”

 

"You make him really mad," Judal admits, unable to stop a grin of his own from creeping back. "Especially because you keep asking about me." 

 

“I can’t stop watching your videos.” Sinbad turns off the highway, pulling into his parking space. “You’ve got that extra...something. I can’t look away when you’re performing, and it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that about someone.”

 

That's an invitation if Judal's ever heard one. The second the car turns off, he crawls his way over, slinging a leg over Sinbad's lap to straddle him, sitting back on his thighs. A bit of a tight fit, considering the car, but that makes it sort of better as he wriggles. "Can't stop watching, huh? I told you, you know, that I couldn't make anything official with you," he says, plucking a little at the front of Sinbad's coat. "But maybe a little _private_ show…"

 

"You're impatient. I like that." Sinbad's mind tracks immediately to how easy it would be to work with this kid, how famous he could make him, how many videos he could sell and what nice costars he could get, but tries hard to let that go. It's easy to focus instead on sliding his hands to Judal's waist, wriggling them up inside his coat. "You sure you wouldn't rather do this on my bed? I've got a big one."

 

"Who says we have to do it just once?" Judal breathes, eagerly reaching up to loosen the fastenings of his own coat, shrugging it off in short order and wriggling deeper into Sinbad's lap with a happy little sound. "Your hands are so _big_." 

 

Sinbad's hands close over Judal's ass, squeezing and kneading as he leans up to barely, softly brush his lips against Judal's. "I've been imagining what this ass would feel like in them for a while," he murmurs. "My imagination didn't do it justice."

 

Another breathy, eager sound pulls from Judal's lips, and he arches his back, eyes fluttering at the press of Sinbad's fingers. "You can grab it all you want," he all but _croons_ , whining low in his throat as his hips jut forward, his cock so hard already that it _hurts_ rubbing against the front of his jeans. "God, you're so _hot_. Why did you ever retire, you'd make so much _money_ \--" 

 

Sinbad nips slightly at Judal's bottom lip, squeezing harder and yanking Judal towards him, letting him feel the press of his hard cock through the front of his pants. "Mmm, you make me want to come out of retirement. I'd do one last shoot with you, that's for sure. Would you like that?"

 

A quick nod follows, and Judal's lips part, a ragged pant escaping as he sucks Sinbad's lower lip into his mouth. "Yeah, really want that." His fingers shake as he paws at the front of Sinbad's pants, thumb popping open the button. "You can fuck me any way you want. Fuck," he adds on a whisper, mouth dry as his hand wriggles inside to palm over Sinbad's cock. "You really _are_ big." 

 

Sinbad can't help but chuckle at that, hips twitching up against Judal's palm. "Did you think it was all camera tricks or something? I know you don't use them, I've seen your old web videos."

 

He leans down, dragging his teeth over Judal's earlobe, whispering in a husk of a voice, "You look way too young now to be the age Kouen says you are."

 

Judal probably shouldn't be _shuddering_ when there's a chance he could get in really, really big trouble. "I… w-what age does he even say I am, I don't remember," he laughs, ignorance a far better thing to feign when Sinbad's so hot and hard against his hand, and his fingers are so eager to curl around him and _stroke_. Jesus. He's so thick, it's enough to make him squirm with the _idea_ of that cock going inside of him. 

 

_I knew it. Kouen, you lying bastard._

 

"That doesn't matter right now," he assures Judal, and palms the kid through his jeans before pulling them down, freeing his cock to better stroke and slide down the length of it. Skilled fingers bring them closer together, one big hand closing over Judal's, closing it over both shafts rubbing sticky and slippery against each other. Even now, the old words want to spill from his lips, and he fastens his mouth to Judal's neck instead, trying, _trying_ to be careful. "God, it's not easy not to bite and suck on you."

 

A hard shudder rakes down his spine, and Judal's hips jerk forward, grinding desperately into the warm, calloused slide of Sinbad's palm, against that big, _hard_ cock. "Do it anyway," he begs, burying his own face into the side of Sinbad's neck, breath escaping raggedly as his hands scrabble up to grab for Sinbad's hair. "W-want you to bite, mark me up, wanna feel like I'm yours--"

 

Sinbad's hand closes over both of them in a slow squeeze. "You're going to get me in trouble," he growls, but there's something enticing, alluring about the words. He gives in, nibbling sharp, tiny bites over Judal's neck, covering each one with his lips and licking, sucking on the skin until he raises harsh red marks. God, he's close, closer than he should be after just this, but he wants Judal so badly, has ever since he saw that first video--

 

"Come for me," he whispers in Judal's ear, sucking hard on the skin just under it. "Come all over me," he groans as his hips snap up into his grip, tightening as he spills hot and slick, covering their cocks and his hand and part of Judal's shirt.

 

A dozen little things want to escape from his lips-- _I'll blame it on someone else, you won't get in trouble, just bite bite bite_ \--but it's not necessary because Sinbad does it _anyway,_ leaves him gasping and shuddering with every suck and every nibble and _god_ , that feels good--

 

He whimpers as he looks down, watching Sinbad spill, the _sight_ making his cock throb even harder, and it's with a whiny, desperate little gasp that he jerks forward, coming hard, slick and messy between them, his nails digging into the back of Sinbad's neck as he _clings_. 

 

Sinbad nuzzles forward, gathering Judal up into his arms--he's seen the videos, he knows how Judal goes all relaxed and dreamy after he comes, like an affectionate pet. He's wanted, wanted so badly to be the one to hold him up after that, and revels in the feeling now, even as he uses one hand to tuck them both into their pants. "Let me get you up to my bedroom," he murmurs, brushing his lips across one raised bite, "and really treat you right."

 

Judal manages a hazy little nod, all but purring as he wriggles his way against Sinbad's chest, sighing into his neck as he nibbles into the crook of his shoulder like an overstimulated cat. "You feel _really_ good," he sighs out, eyes fluttering as he paws at Sinbad's hair. "So warm. Ahh, my legs feel all wiggly…"

 

"You're so fucking cute." Sinbad is careful as he opens the door, scooping Judal up easily in his arms as he carries the kid inside. "Maybe I should just feed you and let you sleep it off, you look like you don't get enough sleep."

 

"I get enough sleep," Judal mumbles, butting his head into Sinbad's shoulder. He lifts his eyes just long enough to look around the place-- _geez_ , this is a lot better than any complex he's ever seen--before burying his face back into Sinbad's neck. "Hungry, though. I like food. When I'm horny, I get really hungry, too."

 

"Oh, yeah? What do you like to eat?" He deposits Judal with a lingering kiss on one of his overstuffed armchairs, handing him a blanket to curl up with as he heads to the kitchen. "I've got some leftovers, a pizza, I could make spaghetti...I'd offer you wine or a beer, but I'm not sure you're old enough to drink."

 

"Pizza's good." Judal promptly wriggles his way down into the blanket, wrapping himself up in a rather convincing portrait of a burrito. "And I drink. Whatever you like best is good." 

 

There's a long moment spent looking at the wine cabinet, thinking about dates and years and going with his favorite standby anyway, pouring a couple glasses with all the ease of a sommelier. "This goes well with Italian. Is there anything you don't eat? Meat, veggies--just don't tell me you don't eat carbs, I'm not making a pizza on lettuce."

 

Judal hisses rather like a cat at the mention of vegetables--and _lettuce_. "No veggies. Gross, don't want." He burrows himself further down into the blanket, peering up over the edge of it. "I eat lots of carbs, though, I like food a loot." 

 

Sinbad has to laugh at that, pulling a pizza out of the freezer and setting the oven high. "I don't know where you put it all, there isn't an ounce of fat on you. Not that I'm complaining, I know how most of your audience likes skinny boys. You don't throw it up afterward, do you?" It's not exactly something he'd put past Kouen to make him do.

 

At that, Judal makes a face. "Why would I do that? I like food, want it to stay. I just work it off, sex burns a lot of calories anyway and I work out and stuff, too." He wriggles his way down into the chair, pouting a little. "Aren't you gonna come cuddle while it cooks?" 

 

One flick of the oven timer and Sinbad leaves the kitchen, simply scooping Judal up into his arms before sitting down, arranging the boy on his lap. He hooks his chin over Judal's shoulder, nuzzling into the side of his neck. "I feel like we haven't had a proper conversation yet, just me pawing at you and trying to get you away from Kouen every chance I get."

 

"Mmn," Judal agrees, settling back with a content little sound, sagging back into the broad, sturdy warmth of Sinbad's chest with a sigh. "But I like it when you paw at me. Also, Kouen's not so bad. He's just really strict, makes lots of rules and stuff."

 

"Been wanting to paw at you since I saw that first video," Sinbad admits. "I haven't had a reaction like that to a model in years, you know. Hell, you make me want to perform again, and as my assistants keep reminding me, it's been quite a while."

 

"We could make a video." Judal squirms, twisting himself around to straddle Sinbad's lap with a grin, his arms draping over the back of the chair. "You know, just for fun. No one even has to know. Then you can watch it all the time," he breathes, and shivers as he leans in close, teething the curve of Sinbad's ear and pulling on an earring, "and I can think about how I had that big cock of yours inside of me." 

 

The breath catches in Sinbad's chest, and he settles Judal on top of him, eyes dark with promise. "After we eat," he breathes, "I'll get everything set up, I still have enough stuff here to make it look good. You want to do it realtime?" God, he can't even remember the last time he'd had actual realtime sex on camera.

 

Judal groans, eyes fluttering as he squirms his way down into Sinbad's lap, the urge to bite at him again too strong to resist. "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good," he murmurs, teeth scraping against the curve of his shoulder as he rocks himself forward, arching his back to slowly rub down. "Dunno if I can wait for you to film it, though." 

 

"Later." Sinbad moves, getting both of them down onto the soft plush carpet, settling himself between Judal's legs as he nuzzles against his ear. "We can do it again later, when you're satisfied. I'll keep fucking you until you have to leave, okay?" _If I even let you leave._

 

That's a promise that Judal _likes_ , and he wriggles up with another moan, his arms immediately thrown around Sinbad's shoulders to yank him down closer. "Watched your videos, too," he admits, eyes dark as he bucks his hips up. "Just… you've got such a nice cock, I've thought about it a lot of times on my own. Does my stuff make you do that?" he breathlessly asks, splaying his legs wider. "Do you think about me when you jerk off?" 

 

"Lots of times. Thought about how pretty you'd look sucking on it," Sinbad murmurs, pulling back just long enough to shuck his clothes, then forward again to cover Judal with his body. "Or if you'd whine when I shoved it into you."

 

Judal whines at _that_ , his hands pawing their way down, eagerly grabbing for Sinbad's cock even as he tries to work open the fastenings of his own jeans. "You can fuck my mouth first, if you want." He tries not to sound too desperate for it, but it's hard when his own cock is throbbing at just the thought, no matter how soon he's come already. "Bet I can take all of you," he adds, swallowing hard at the thought of it. "Not many people could." 

 

“You’re right about that,” Sinbad mutters. “At least, not many out of the business.” He rests his hands on Judal’s shoulders, pressing him down to the ground, leaning down to nip and bite at one of the same spots again, knowing full well how the bruises look layered and wanting to see it on Judal more than anyone. He grinds down, rubbing down hard against Judal’s cock, grinning as he feels it as hard as his own. “And not many people can keep up with me like this, either. I have a feeling you’re really something special.”

 

The praise makes him shudder, no matter how he hears it a dozen different ways day in and day out. From Sinbad, it's _different_ , and they aren't on a set besides. Judal groans and lurches up, splaying his legs wider as he arches his back, desperate to feel more of Sinbad's hard cock pressing against him. "Bite me harder," he pants out, letting his head loll back as he says it. "Wanna look like someone ate me alive."

 

Sinbad’s voice is low, urgent as he murmurs, “You’re playing a dangerous game, boy. Haven’t you heard how dangerous I am?” 

 

His hands are rough as he yanks Judal’s pants off, tossing them carelessly to the side, running the palms up and down over the inside of Judal’s thighs. “I know there are rumors,” he rumbles, with another hard bite to one of Judal’s shoulders.

 

Judal whines, low and needy, his thighs quivering underneath Sinbad's touch as his toes curl. "Y-yeah. Turns me on, makes me hotter," he breathlessly admits, his eyes falling half-shut. "I'm gonna get in so much trouble tomorrow anyway," he adds on a little, hitching laugh. "Might as well do it all the way."

 

 _God, and don’t I just know this type._ At least, Sinbad thinks he does. The funny thing about Judal is that no matter how well Sinbad thinks he’s got the boy figured out, there’s always something surprising about him nonetheless. _Maybe that’s what draws me to him so much. I hate being bored._ He leans down, nipping and biting until he draws a pert nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling there too. “Surprised Kouen didn’t make you pierce these. He seems like the type.”

 

There's no helping that mindless lurch upward, groaning into the slick, wet heat of Sinbad's mouth. "T…too sensitive," Judal manages with a shudder, a hand clawing up through Sinbad's hair nonetheless to hold his mouth down as he _squirms_ , his hard cock rutting up against Sinbad's hip. "If… if they were pierced… probably wouldn't be able to stop myself from coming too fast." 

 

A slow grin spreads across Sinbad’s face. “Is that so?” _Later_ , he promises himself. _There will be time later._ He grabs Judal’s legs, hoisting them up over his head. “Nice and flexible. Good, that’s not just camera tricks.” It’s a second’s work to grab a condom and lube off a table, nuzzling against the inside of one thigh as he puts the condom on, then slicks the outside even further. “You want me to take it slow, ease you into it?” he asks, knowing damn well what the answer will be, wanting to hear it anyway.

 

"No, _god_ ," is the whining little reply, Judal's throat bobbing in a hard swallow as he squirms, trying his best to wriggle down and press against Sinbad's cock no matter how he's bent and helpless. His body twitches at the very _thought_ of Sinbad's cock inside of him, and he pants out a ragged breath, trying to reach a hand down to grab for him and guide him inside. "Please, please, put it _in_ \--"

 

Sinbad presses a long, hard kiss to Judal’s mouth, sucking his bottom lip inside and tugging on it with his teeth as he slides slowly in, gasping as the head spreads Judal wide. Judal is never quite the same twice--he looks nothing now like he had any time Sinbad had ever seen him onscreen, face twisted in pleasure, body tense with the intrusion. The old words try to make an appearance again, and he swallows them down, biting Judal’s neck again instead, marking up the other side so there will be _no hiding_.

 

"Fuck," is the gasping little exhale that Judal manages, his thighs trembling as they splay even _wider_ in an attempt to make it easier. It doesn't work. Sinbad's _thick_ , really long, too, and every inch that pushes inside of him makes his legs shake, makes his chest heave from the effort of _taking him_ , and his mouth falls open as Sinbad presses so deep that he starts to ache places that he didn't know he _could_. 

 

"T…that's… f-fuck, really good," he rasps out, eyes rolling back as he manages a tense little wriggle down, groaning at how his body reflexively squeezes tighter around Sinbad's cock. "Knew you'd fill me up just right--"

 

“Knew you’d take it so well,” Sinbad groans, sliding in as deep as he can, hands coming under to lift Judal’s hips up, pulling him close. He spares a little grin, breath coming short at the _squeeze_ of the boy, and murmurs, “It’s better this way, isn’t it? Without having to wait to get another angle, or make sure everyone can see my cock going into you? Just you and me, kid.” The last ends in a shudder, and Sinbad tangles a hand in Judal’s hair, pulling tight as he rocks slowly down. “Just you and me.”

 

God, that's not _fair_.

 

Judal mewls, _knows_ he sounds like some base whore, maybe more like a cat in heat than anything, but all the better for it when Sinbad's cock feels so damned _good_ stuffing him full. The pull on his hair goes straight to his cock, and he pants hard, rutting down against Sinbad, biting his lip at the slick, tense slide of it, the way even just a little wriggle makes him feel that much more _over-full_. "Really good," he mindlessly, weakly agrees, lips parting in a ragged, breathless sound. "Fuck me _hard_ , I'll be a good boy for you, _please_ \--"

 

God, what is _wrong_ with Kouen? Sinbad can see instantly that this boy doesn’t get properly fucked nearly as often as he needs it, and damned if he’s not going to remedy that now. “Want to keep you stuffed full,” he grunts, hips slapping in hard, the hand in his hair yanking Judal’s head back, exposing the pale column of his neck that Sinbad can’t resist a single part of. “I can’t see you without wanting to be in you, _god_ , you’re a good boy for me, aren’t you?” He’d been wrong to avoid the old words. Somehow, even they have meaning again, go to his cock again, when he’s with _Judal_. “Be a good boy and take all my cock, begging for more, huh?”

 

Judal yelps with the yank on his hair, humping down eager and hard against Sinbad's cock, his breath stolen in a desperate, hot rush as his own cock _throbs_. "Wanna be a good boy for you," he nearly sobs, eyes fluttering desperately as he squirms himself down, brow furrowing and his mouth falling open when Sinbad presses so deep that he forgets how to _breathe_. "P-please, don't stop, need you fucking me all the time, Daddy, your big cock feels so _good_ \--"

 

With anyone else, that would turn him off, being reminded of his age, and words that are so _porny_ besides.

 

With Judal...damn, but it only makes him harder. He grips tight, rolling his hips up as he fists Judal’s hair with one hand, curling the other around the boy’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip and smearing the clear fluid. “Such a good boy,” he breathes, pounding in hard, wanting Judal to feel every bit of him inside. “You want to come for Daddy, huh? Show me just what a good boy you are.”

 

He _aches_. Sinbad's hand on him isn't fair, an added over-stimulation that makes breathy whines and whimpers fall from his lips as easily as breathing, and every thrust _hurts_ now, goes straight to his cock and makes his eyes roll back with how hard he is. Tension makes him twitch, makes him quiver and squirm, the carpet giving his elbows a sharp, burning rub when he tries to lurch upward and wriggle for even more of that big, thick cock that fills him up so _perfectly_ , but in the end, Judal just gives up with a sob, lying back and letting himself _take it_. 

 

Judal spills with a breathy, desperate sound, struggling to keep his eyes open and _look_ at the mess he makes over Sinbad's hand and his own stomach, slick and sticky. 

 

That slick tightness is more than Sinbad can bear, and he allows himself the luxury of biting too hard, shoving Judal down into the rug as if he’s nothing but a rag doll, taking him as hard and as swift as he _wants_ , stomach dragging against Judal’s softening cock, and it feels so damned _good_ to feel Judal come around his cock. “There’s a good boy,” he groans, and with a last lurch forward he comes, hands digging into Judal’s shoulders, snapping his hips up so hard he’s sure it must _hurt_ , unable to stop himself nonetheless--not that Judal’s complaining.

 

He allows himself a few deep, shuddering breaths before pulling out, sliding off the condom and tossing it into the trash. “You,” he breathes, flopping down onto his back on the floor, “are a thousand times better than I expected, and I expected you to be amazing.”

 

Judal sags back with a long, weary huff. "Can you just fuck me all day?" he blearily asks, never mind that it's kind of hard to keep his eyes open and he's _still_ shivering. "Oh. Hey, I think your oven's beeping at you." 

 

Sinbad stumbles to his feet, grabbing the blanket from the chair and tossing it down at Judal on his way to the kitchen. “You just lay there and look cute, I’m going to feed you.” _If I can remember how to make my limbs work._

 

Burrito roll recommence, then. Judal _does_ have the mind to lurch up and steal a tissue to wipe himself clean first, at least, before rolling himself back up into the blanket with a little sigh. A shaky hand reaches up to yank the tie out of his now thoroughly mussed hair, letting it spill loose and long everywhere. "I'm good at being cute. And I like food. And you," he adds more quietly, stuffing his face down into the blanket.

 

Sinbad spares a glance over his shoulder, and almost trips over nothing but his own feet. Judal isn’t kidding when he says he’s cute, the kind of cute that makes Sinbad’s chest twist and his breath catch. Sinbad swallows hard, leaning down to pull the pizza out of the oven and slice it up. “You know,” he says casually, rolling the slicer through and cutting geometrically, “if Kouen is ever a dick to you--or if you think you’re not safe, or you’re in trouble for any reason--come to me. No matter what it is, I’ll take care of you.”

 

Judal's mouth twists a little at that. _Heard that before_ , is on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't say it, not when it's really easy to believe someone like Sinbad. Then again, who is he kidding? He barely knows the guy--but _ugh_ , he's a good fuck…

 

"Yeah. Thanks. I'm fine, though." A slow roll onto his stomach, and Judal finds where his jeans went off to, fishing for his cellphone in the pocket of them to make sure Kouen hasn't been blowing up his phone. Judal lifts his gaze, then, actually glancing around the apartment. "You've got a _really_ nice place. Kinda expected you to have a girlfriend or something, though, this is a lot of space for one guy." 

 

“Don’t really want one.” Sinbad shrugs. “I mean, I like girls well enough, and I’ve got a regular thing going with a few of them, but I’m not really boyfriend material. Besides, the job keeps me busy.” He serves up a couple plates, balancing them on one arm, and lifts two glasses of wine in the other hand, bringing them all to camp out in a little picnic on the carpet. “I could make a salad to go--oh, never mind, you don’t like vegetables, right?”

 

Judal's nose wrinkles at the mention of _salad_. "No, really gross." He blows a sweaty strand of hair out of his face, grabbing for his plate before Sinbad even sets it down. "No boyfriends either, then, huh." A bite out of his piping hot pizza, and he doesn't even look fazed as he wolfs it down. "Me either."

 

“None?” Sinbad raises his eyebrows. “Same as me? Or are you not supposed to date? I’ve heard things about those Kou Studios contracts.” He blows on his own pizza, taking a bite before washing it down with a sip of wine. “Draconian.”

 

"… Well," Judal amends after a short pause, "I _sort of_ had a thing going with this one girl. But, uh. It was Kouen's sister. That… yeah, he didn't like that," he says with a snort, reaching for his own glass of wine. Ah. Lots stronger than what he's used to. He takes a bigger sip. "It was just a friends-with-benefits thing, anyway, but they're really rich and everything, you know? Picky about who she goes out with, whatever."

 

“Old money,” Sinbad agrees with significantly more disgust. “Yeah, I know them from a long time ago.” He takes a longer sip of wine, drowning the bitter taste the Rens always leave in his mouth. “So, why’d you go with Kou? Not to mix business with pleasure, but I thought I sent a pretty enticing offer, and I know it’s better than what Kouen’s paying you.”

 

Judal blinks up at him, his brow furrowing. "I never got anything official from you--by the time I signed on with Kou, it was just calls and stuff and your secretary pissing Kouen off a lot." He grabs another slice of pizza. "Besides, I've known them for a long time, and they house me and take care of me and everything, so the money's kinda secondary at this point." 

 

 _Damn you, Kouen. What did you do with the contracts I sent him? Burned them? Not before laughing with your repulsive little family, I’ll bet._ Outwardly, he just shrugs. “They must have gotten lost on the way. No pressure, I just wanted to offer again. If you’re happy with Kou, then it’s none of my business.” He lifts a glass, holding it up to Judal. “To a night of being ourselves.”

 

"… I probably would've picked you."

 

His glass clinks against Sinbad's a little tiredly. "I can't exactly _leave,_ you know. Not just--out of the blue like that. I mean, not that I'm not _happy_ ," Judal is quick to amend. "Just--you seem a lot more fun. You guys should do a joint thing or something, then I can work with you."

 

“I’ve offered.” Sinbad shrugs, taking a long drink, trying not to imagine too hard how nice it would have been to have Judal on his team. “I try to keep my performers happy, when I can. It goes beyond the contract, you know? It’s not all pay and benefits, some of it’s just...making sure they have fun, letting them mostly choose their own projects, making sure they know they can talk to me if they’re upset about something...there’s more to being the head of a studio than having an eye for talent. At least, there should be.”

 

"I have fun." He probably says it too fast, and Judal tries to remedy that by biting into his pizza again with a scowl. "I just--ugh, whatever. It's not like I'd be fucking you on camera if I signed on, anyway, so it doesn't matter. Kouen picks the stuff that sells the best, so that's fine."

 

Sinbad laughs. “I’d definitely come out of retirement if you were part of the picture,” he remarks with a grin. “Though I think my old clientele would be rather...confused at the sudden change in venue.”

 

"I can top," is Judal's immediate insistence, obviously knowing _exactly_ what Sinbad refers to. "Kouen just--well, he says with the way I look, it wouldn't sell. He's probably right," he grumbles, downing back another gulp of wine. "And anyway, I like your cock a lot, so you can just keep putting it in me, people could get over it." 

 

“To tell you the truth, I’ve always preferred topping,” Sinbad says with a shrug. “When I was starting out, the money wasn’t right. It’s always easier to start out bottoming, then you can work with bigger stars without ego getting in the way. Which is your favorite, when it comes down to it?”

 

"Oh, I definitely like bottoming the most, so I guess that works out, huh?" Judal sets his now empty wine glass down, laying his head down onto his arms. "You have such a nice cock," he laments. "It's gonna be so _boring_ going back to work." 

 

Sinbad snorts. “You and me both.” He drains his glass, then stretches out next to Judal, throwing an arm over his waist. “You’re adorable. You sure I can’t keep you? No one takes my cock like you.”

 

Judal _purrs_ at that, rolling himself out of the blanket to wriggle closer. "I _want_ you to keep me. Kouen's already gonna be mad, though," he sighs, lifting a hand to trail his fingers over his neck, knowing without looking that it's mottled with bites. "And… actually," he admits with a grimace, "I'm not _really_ supposed to be having sex before a shoot. But… oh well."

 

Sinbad rolls his eyes. “That’s just another way for him to keep his performers in line. If he doesn’t have makeup people that can hide all of that, he should fire them. As for the rest…” He shrugs. “I could check for you. Want to show me the damage?”

 

"No damage, I'm not gonna break just from one fuck--even if you _are_ really big." Judal shimmies his way closer nonetheless, setting his teeth to Sinbad's shoulder for a light nibble. "Maybe if you fucked me again or something…"

 

Sinbad’s laugh is a low, rich thing as he rolls them slowly, settling on his back with Judal’s comforting warm weight on top of him. “Why, do you _want_ me to break you or something?”

 

"Maaaybe. Then I can call in sick or something." Judal wriggles down against him, sighing as he stretches, dragging his fingers down Sinbad's chest slowly. "Hey, I'm clean, you know. We can do it without a condom, when's the last time you got to fill someone up _right_ , hmm?" 

 

The idea is so sudden, so _tempting_ , that Sinbad’s hips twitch up, breath hitching in his chest. Then he sighs, hands sliding down Judal’s sides to rest on his hips. “How do you know _I’m_ clean? You shouldn’t go around offering that, you know. You’ll get hurt, and that’s the last thing I want.”

 

Judal's eyes roll as he huffs. "Please, like you're _not_. I don't offer that to just anyone, I'm not _that_ dumb." He frowns, sitting back a bit. "Unless you don't _want_ to."

 

Sinbad looks up at him through lidded eyes, closing a hand over Judal’s and dragging it down his own chest, to where his cock is hardening between his legs. “Does that feel like I don’t want to?”

 

A shiver rakes down Judal's spine, his fingers immediately curling around to squeeze. "No," he breathlessly replies. "But--should let me suck you first, at least for a bit, you can have my mouth however you want it-- _then_ you can fuck me again. Just… just make me into your pet, I'll be good." 

 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Sinbad says with a laugh, folding his hands behind his head as he lays back. “Show me what you like to do with a man’s cock, given the opportunity. If I want something different, believe me, I’ll let you know. Don’t show off, just have fun.”

 

 _What's the difference_ Judal almost asks, though bites his tongue in favor of wriggling his way down, too excited about the idea of it to bother with words. He nuzzles his way up Sinbad's thighs, then against his hardening cock, mouthing along the side of it with a hot, shuddering huff of breath before his tongue flicks out to taste, swiping long and slick over the tip of him.

 

Sinbad’s eyes close, then open again almost immediately, unable to look away from the alluring sight. Judal’s sucking on him like he _loves_ it, and Sinbad usually prides himself on being able to tell performance from reality. With Judal, maybe nothing is certain, nothing except the sinful wet warmth sliding over him, and Sinbad lets his thighs spread to give Judal more room to work. “I have a feeling,” he breathes, “that telling you not to perform is like telling rain not to be wet. You can’t help it, can you? You always look good. God, look how hard you’ve got me.”

 

Judal's eyes flutter, the praise enough to go straight to his own cock, and he eagerly parts his lips, breath escaping fast and ragged through his nose as he sucks the head of Sinbad's cock into his mouth, his tongue an insistent wriggle against him. He lifts a hand to shove his hair back and out of the way as he bobs his head, groaning in the back of his throat as Sinbad slides hot and thick and _heavy_ over his tongue, thick enough to make his jaw already ache as he works to swallow him down. 

 

A low, whimpering sound muffles in Judal's throat as he soon finds his nose nuzzling into the short, dark hairs at the base of Sinbad's cock, and he pulls back just enough to look up through his lashes, eyes wet as he mindlessly grabs for one of those big, strong hands, urging it to grab at his hair. _Use me,_ fuck _me._

 

Sinbad lets out a groan as his hand fists in Judal’s hair, shoving him further down, eyes alight at the sight. “Just like that,” he murmurs, blunt nails scratching gently against Judal’s scalp. “Your mouth is so perfect. Go on, further, you want to be really full, don’t you?” He’s close already, and even realizing how close he is makes him harder, throbbing against Judal’s tongue. He bucks up, forcing Judal’s head down farther, until he feels Judal’s nose against his belly. “There’s a good boy, taking all of me. You like sucking my cock?”

 

Judal nods, or tries to--easier said than done, when his mouth is so full of cock and he can barely _breathe_. His eyes lid, glazed and dark as he moans around Sinbad's cock, gagging when he's shoved down harder and Sinbad's cock sides even deeper down his throat, and he swallows hard, breath escaping frantic, desperate from his nose as his eyes tear up further. _Yes yes yes, I love it, fuck my mouth, just use me like a hole_ \--

 

With a growl of satisfaction so intense it’s almost frustration, Sinbad wrenches Judal off of him, chest heaving as he pants. The noises, the sight, the _feeling_ of Judal’s mouth are too much, and he beckons urgently, using that lovely hair as a handle to yank Judal up. “You sure you want me raw? I need to be in you or I’m going to come too soon.”

 

A too-fast nod follows, one shaky hand lifting to wipe his mouth as he pants hard for a full breath. "Need it," Judal groans, wriggling his way up and nearly sobbing as he slides back to let Sinbad's cock just slide up the cleft of his ass. "G-god… where's the lube, need you in me so bad--"

 

Sinbad fumbles with the pump, grabbing Judal’s hand and giving him a generous dollop.  “Use a lot, or you’ll tear,” he warns. God, it’s hard to sound anything but eager when it’s been so _long_ since he’s gone bareback, especially just for the fun of it and not for extra pay. “And go slow, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want it to feel really good for both of us.”

 

"I know how to do it, shut up," is the breathy mumble to follow as Judal's hand slides back to grab Sinbad's cock, biting his lip just at the feel of him in his hand again, hard and so _slick_. His fingers squeeze, and Judal sucks in a steadying breath, whimpering at just the press of the head of Sinbad's cock against his hole, still sore from earlier, but _god_ , that makes it even _better_ with that initial stretch, thighs tense and body trembling as he sinks down. His hands curl their way against Sinbad's chest, head bowed as he wriggles his way down, _whining_ at the sensation of that thick cock stuffing him so full, pressing so _deep_ at this angle that it's hard to do anything but _writhe_. 

 

God, it’s been so long for Sinbad that he fists his hands in the blanket, unable to do anything but groan at the first tense, slick slide in, biting his own lip when it’s just too _much_ , when Judal is so tight and perfect around him that it doesn’t _matter_ he’s had Judal twice today already, he could still explode at any moment. Everything is sharper, the tiniest bit _grittier_ , more real this way, and when he sees how Judal is close to collapsing on top of him, he reaches his hands up, unable to stop himself from squeezing too tight, knowing there will be bruises on Judal’s waist tomorrow and, god help him, _liking_ it. “That feel good inside you, baby? Is that where you like my cock?”

 

Judal sobs as he nods, chest heaving with each hiccuping breath. The squeeze of Sinbad's hands makes it feel that much _tighter_ , and god help him, he can't _help_ but squirm his way down harder onto Sinbad's cock, no matter how it's far, far too much, and every slick, aching rock of his hips makes him whine and twist and want to fuck himself on it even harder. "Love it," he gasps out, arms trembling in their attempt to keep himself upright as he digs his knees in, thighs quivering from the effort it takes to push himself. He rocks up far enough that Sinbad slides out, all for the chance to reach back, to rub that thick, dripping head over his twitching hole again before he sinks back down with a deep, grateful moan as his body stretches wide around him once more. "You feel so _good_ , Daddy, fuck me hard--"

 

“Daddy’s gonna fuck you hard, baby,” Sinbad promises, and his cock twitches, _throbs_ inside Judal. He runs his hands up that sculpted abdomen, fingers dragging over the soft skin, and pinches Judal’s nipples, tugging on them with his fingers, hard enough to make Judal bend forward over him. “You like it when your Daddy plays with you, don’t you, baby? You like making me happy, riding my cock like that? What a good boy. Squeeze down tight for me.”

 

He's going to _pass out_ from how hard his own cock is, the rush of blood leaving his chest heaving as he bends into Sinbad's hands, muscles drawing tight and tense and shivery all on their own accord as he shoves himself down, head rolling forward with another, shuddering groan. "Love it, love it so much--god, your cock feels so good in me like this--" Judal's breath catches and he whines, face flushing a dark red. "Tell me… t-tell me I'm being a good girl, Daddy, wanna feel you come inside me so bad--"

 

Sinbad’s brain shorts out. 

 

Everything is reduced to _hot sweet slick young tight hot yes_ , fingers digging in too hard, and with the breadth of his hands Sinbad swears he can feel his cock inside Judal, thick and aching and so, _so_ ready. “You want me to fill you up, baby?” he asks, eyes alight and voice a catching, breathy husk. “What a good girl you are, riding your Daddy’s cock.”

 

He fists a hand in Judal’s hair again, dragging him down. “Here it comes, baby. Good girls--ah--get what they--deserve--” he grunts, and then everything goes white, far more intense than the last time, shaking him to his core as he yanks Judal down brutally hard, coming slick and hot inside him.

 

Judal _thinks_ he manages a breathy, mindless little squeak, his voice caught in his throat when Sinbad spills inside of him, slick and hot and _god_ , that's just obscene, enough to make him moan and wriggle down harder, no matter how he shakes and shivers and _hurts_. That's all it takes for his own control to snap, chest heaving in a ragged sob as he spills, everything _aching_ from how spent he is, how overstimulated and fucked and ah, god, he can't _breathe_ from how hard he pants. He mewls as he flops down, face burying into the side of Sinbad's neck, biting his lip at the sensation of being so full that he's _dripping_. 

 

Sinbad lets one arm curl around Judal’s back, eyes sliding shut as he strokes mindlessly up and down his spine. He thinks he murmurs something soothing, but most of his energy and effort are put into making sure he doesn’t just fall asleep on the middle of his living room floor. “You,” he starts, and has to stop and breathe before he starts again. “You want to move to the bedroom? Comfy bed.”

 

"Want." Judal butts his head into Sinbad's shoulder. "Can't move though. All wobbly. Legs feel like squiggles." 

 

Sinbad groans--why does he always have to be the strong one? He likes being floppy--and struggles manfully upright, lifting Judal in his arms with a last gasp of strength. “You’d better not snore,” he murmurs, somehow getting them into his bedroom, curling up in his bed. “Not when I went through all that trouble.”

 

"If I do," Judal mumbles, burying himself against Sinbad's side, "wake me up and shove my face on your cock or something, I don't care." 

 

“That sounds like a fair trade,” Sinbad agrees, and promptly pulls the blanket over both of them, snuggling down against the warm nice-smelling bundle in his arm and going to sleep.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Judal isn't an early riser, but his phone sort of prompts him to be. 

 

He winces at the name flashing on it--ah, yep, Kouen's going to kill him. He's late, _extremely_ late, and biting his lip, he wonders if he even wants to show up at _all_.

 

_Maybe he'll fire me. Maybe then Sinbad can pick me up and I can work for him instead._

 

A stupid idea, definitely, but one that sort of makes him sneak out of bed, tiptoe over to the sliding glass door of the balcony, and let his phone sit out there to ring indefinitely for a long, long time. 

 

He makes himself at home, stealing one of Sinbad's button-downs to wrap around himself as he sneaks out to the kitchen. Slim pickings in the man's fridge, but whatever--a couple of peaches later and he feels less like he wants to die, though the urge to rummage is a little impossible, considering his appetite. 

 

Sinbad doesn’t get nearly enough sleep.

 

That’s pretty much par for the course, though, and he doesn’t usually have someone as enticing as Judal to wake up to like he does now. He stretches slowly, not bothering with clothing beyond a pair of boxers as he makes his way to the living room, following the noise coming from the kitchen. 

 

He leans over the counter on his elbows, enjoying the hell out of the view of Judal’s ass. “I can make you some eggs or pancakes if you’d prefer it to cold fruit,” he offers mildly, with an appreciative grin.

 

Judal perks up immediately at that, swallowing a mouthful of a peach as he turns around and shuts the fridge. "Really? You'd cook for me again?" 

 

Sinbad laughs, entering the kitchen to give Judal’s hair an affectionate tug. “Last night was hardly cooking, just putting a frozen pizza in the oven. Take a seat, do you want eggs or bacon or pancakes or all three?”

 

Judal does a rather accurate imitation of a cat, minus the ears to flick and tail to slowly swish. "All three would be _really_ good," he breathes, his cheek rubbing against Sinbad's shoulder as he briefly latches to his arm. "Do you have to go into work today?" 

 

“I was supposed to be there already,” Sinbad admits. He nuzzles a kiss into Judal’s hair before turning to the pantry, pulling down his ingredients and getting a couple burners going. “They can handle things without me for one day. You?”

 

"Well, I haven't heard my phone ringing, so they must be okay without me…" Judal lies, prying himself away to let Sinbad cook and hefting himself up onto a barstool, half-draping himself over the counter. "Maybe I can just not go into work forever."

 

Sinbad laughs, dumping an eyeballed amount of pancake mix and egg and milk into a bowl--still not _really_ cooking, but it’ll do. “A boy after my own heart. How do you like your eggs?”

 

"Mnnn, scrambled, this morning." Judal flops forward a bit more. "You're _spoiling_ me, Kouen always makes comments about how he's not running a BBW company when I wanna eat a lot of stuff like this. I don't get fat, I have a really fast metabolism!" 

 

“You’re an adult,” Sinbad says simply. “If you want to eat a hundred eggs, you eat a hundred eggs. And if you always fuck like you did last night, I’m surprised you’re not skin and bones.” He beats a few eggs into a bowl, then leans over and confides, “Ja’far is the same way. He always tells me I’m getting wrinkles and gray hair.”

 

"I don't _always_ fuck like last night, but…" Judal trails off, nose scrunching up as he rolls his eyes. "You don't have wrinkles. And if you got grey hairs, you'd still look sexy."

 

Sinbad shudders at the thought. He combs his hair back into a ponytail, twisting it up to keep it out of his face as he gets the bacon going in a third pan, rendering out the fat. “Either way, you shouldn’t feel guilty about doing something you love, eating or fucking or shooting videos. What made you get started, anyway?”

 

"Nothing better to do. Needed the money." He slowly drums his fingers against the countertop, looking down at his nails. "Easier money than anything else, and everyone told me I was pretty, so I figured it was a win-win situation." 

 

Sinbad nods slowly. “That’s probably the best case scenario, you know. Do you like it? Not sex, specifically, but _performing_. If you don’t, you’re very good at hiding it.”

 

"Oh, yeah. I like it, though sometimes I get bored doing the same stuff over and over," Judal sighs, tilting his head to the side. "Whatever, I guess what sells is worth it. I just get sick of the same boring guys and being that typecast femmy slut all the time. Just because I like cock doesn't mean I'm not still a guy. I mean," he amends, thinking quickly to the night prior, "in _certain_ situations it's really fun, but…" 

 

“Preaching to the choir.” Sinbad pours the first pancake into the pan, flipping the bacon. “I probably wouldn’t have retired if there were more variety. That’s why I started my own studio, you know? I _know_ this business. I understand it. There’s so much potential, and if you do it right it’s a bulletproof industry. Bacon limp or crispy?”

 

"Limp--you were never _that_ girly, though," Judal protests, his chin coming to rest in his hands. "It's different. Speaking of which, I was _supposed_ to have a cross dressing shoot or something, uh--this afternoon." _More like right now_. "Kinda glad I'm gonna skip out on that today, not sure if I can rock the thigh highs and heels thing."

 

“Nah, they could tell trying to make me look feminine was sort of a lost cause,” Sinbad agrees. “They tried to get me to do a crossdressing shoot a couple times, but we all decided it looked ridiculous.” He pours himself a glass of orange juice, offering one to Judal as well. “You’re lucky you’re around now. Ten years ago, there wasn’t any such thing as a switch in the industry.”

 

"… It's your eyebrows," Judal says with a squint as he takes the glass, wrapping both hands around it. "You can't look like a girl with a really strong brow like that. That's a good thing, by the way. It's sexy. And Kouen doesn't wanna market me as a switch," he adds on a grumble. "So whatever."

 

Sinbad sighs. “What a waste. Ah, well, at least you’re happy.” He plops a few pancakes down onto a plate, then scowls at them. “That was stupid, I should have put in chocolate or bananas. Here, I’ll take those, you can have the next batch. Which do you prefer?”

 

 _Does happy mean really, really bored and never gets to have any good sex like I did last night?_ "It's really fine as long as you've got syrup, but… chocolate's always good." Like hell he's gonna turn down anything really sweet first thing in the morning. "We forgot to film last night, you know," Judal suddenly says with a pout.

 

Several chocolate chips find their way into the next batch of pancake batter. “There’s always today,” Sinbad points out. “Unless you want to run off that soon. I’ve got a whole lighting kit and everything, it’s easy to turn one of my guest rooms into a studio. Or my bedroom, I guess, but the lights don’t fit as well in there.” He dumps a pile of eggs onto Judal’s plate, wordlessly passing over salt, pepper and paprika.

 

"So long as Kouen doesn't call, I don't have to go anywhere!" _Yeah, that phone is staying outside for awhile_. Immediately, Judal douses a generous amount of spice over his eggs before digging in like a man starved. "No one ever _cooks_ for me, I'm keeping you." 

 

“I find that hard to believe.” Sinbad reaches over, brushing a thumb over Judal’s cheek before serving himself, picking up several strips of bacon with the tongs and heaping them on Judal’s plate. “Do they know how cute you are when you eat? I’d cook for you all day.”

 

"Kouen just thinks it's _annoying_ ," Judal complains, snagging a piece of bacon before it barely even hits his plate. "Ugh. I probably make him sound like he's really awful, don't I? He's not, he's just…" he sighs, thoughtfully chewing for a moment. "He's just really _straight_. Like. Really boringly straight. About _everything_ , not just sex. Everything always has to be done a certain way or at a certain time and it's not _my_ fault that I get hungry at weird times." 

 

“You _do_ make me want to steal you away from him,” Sinbad admits, “but I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Just...I’ll try not to try too hard, but I really do think you’d like Sindria Studios more. We’re a lot more flexible, and I listen to my performers’ needs whenever I can. Kouen’s never worked in front of the camera a day in his life,” he adds, letting a little of that old enmity show through.

 

"Well, that's obvious," the younger man sniffs, inhaling his next piece of bacon. "I told you, though, I can't just pick up and leave. I don't… they pay for _everything_ , it's not like I can get another job on top of this and get an apartment and stuff in the middle of the city."

 

Sinbad waves a hand at that. “Don’t make it about money. Take for granted that I’d give you what he’s giving you. If you want to stay with Kou that’s fine, and I’d love to keep meeting like this, but it isn’t about money. I’ll pay for your apartment, your stuff, your food, and double your paycheck besides.”

 

Judal eyeballs him, immediately skeptical in spite of how he _wants_ to jump at the mere idea. "You don't even _know me_. What's the catch?" 

 

“Catch?” Sinbad cocks his head. “I’ve seen your videos. I’d love to have you as my star, and I pay top dollar for talent like yours. No catch. Ask my other stars if you want to know what working for me is like.”

 

"That's not it. It's…" Judal sighs, shaking his head with a frown. "A _lot_ of people tell me that, you know. I mean, I don't let any of them take me home or fuck me, but--still. Kouen says guys like you are just poachers."

 

Three more chocolate-chip filled pancakes hit Judal’s plate, and Sinbad finally pulls up a stool. “No pressure. No bullying. Just letting you know I’d be thrilled to have you. Want anything else to drink?”

 

"Ah… no, I'm good." _Would a poacher just stop like that?_ Ugh. Sinbad doesn't _seem_ like all of those other guys. Never has, and that's why Judal went home with him in the first place. He pokes at his pancakes a bit before starting in on them, albeit a little more slowly than before. "You're really nice to me, it's weird sometimes."

 

Sinbad sets down his fork. “It shouldn’t be weird to be nice, especially not with what we do. We get looked down on enough by the outside world, we should at least extend a helping hand to each other. That’s what I think. Also, on an unrelated note, I definitely make it a point to be nice to boys that are as cute as you.”

 

Judal opens his mouth, then shuts again, but not before stuffing a generous amount of pancakes into it and taking the time to chew and swallow. "'m 23," he finally says, swallowing. "Shouldn't call me a boy. Well, outside the bedroom."

 

 _And I’m a magical pink unicorn._ “Right, twenty-three. Men as cute as you, then. What year were you born, again?”

 

"That's really not nice," is the growl to follow.

 

Sinbad leans forward on his elbows, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Neither is lying. Come on, I’m not going to give you grief as long as you’re at least eighteen.” _And even if you aren’t I’ll probably just keep that to myself._

 

Judal scowls, poking at his pancakes a bit more before deciding eating is more fun than being annoyed. "… I turned 18 a few months ago," he admits. "I don't look _that_ young, do I?" 

 

“You sure as hell don’t look twenty-three,” Sinbad says with some amusement. “Not to me, anyway. Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” _Unless Kouen tries to hurt you, in which case this will be highly convenient to use against him._

 

"Well, you don't look 28, and no one says anything about _that_ ," Judal protests with a little huff. "You're a jerk, if you try to use this as blackmail, I'll bite you." 

 

“Don’t be silly,” Sinbad says with a grin. “What possible reason could I have to do something like that? You’re far too cute to blackmail.”

 

"I dunno, people are just jerks, you never know," he grumbles, stabbing an escaped chocolate chip before simply popping it into his mouth. "You know, there are a lot of rumors about _you_ floating around lately." 

 

“Oh?” That’s not news, but it’s been a while since Sinbad has heard the rumors coming from other studios. “What do they say about me?”

 

"That you and your secretary are fucking," Judal bluntly offers, scraping the last bit of his eggs off the plate to leave it looking rather licked clean. "That's kinda cliche, huh? I've never seen much of him, is he hot?"

 

Sinbad bursts out laughing at that. “I’m flattered. Yes, he’s hot, but he’ll have none of that. If that’s the worst they say, I’m losing my touch.”

 

"What, is he straight or something?" The idea of someone _not_ wanting to fuck Sinbad is outright bizarre. 

 

“Can’t tell. From what I see, he doesn’t have sex. I know,” Sinbad adds, “I think it’s weird too.”

 

Judal stares, slowly licking his fork clean. "… How do you _not_ have sex? And work for a _porn_ studio on top of that?" 

 

“I ask him the same thing all the time. He says it’s a lot easier than having sex all the time.” Sinbad slowly shakes his head. “Weird guy, but he’s the best asset I have.”

 

"But you don't get to fuck him. Boring," Judal sighs, flopping forward over the countertop. "Ahh, I'm full now. I haven't had a breakfast like that in _forever_. Can I just move in or something?" 

 

Sinbad thinks for a minute, then sets his fork down. “If you want to,” he says, more seriously than he’d intended.

 

Judal blinks, not really expecting that when he had _honestly_ been joking. Mostly, at any rate. "I… um, I don't think that would go over well. I was just kidding, besides."

 

Sinbad shrugs. “Offer stands. Any time, not just today. It’s not like I don’t have the room, besides,” he points out, sweeping a hand out to indicate the rather spacious accommodations. _Not like I haven’t taken in worse, in my time._

 

"… Yeah, I guess." It's probably bad to imagine it and think that it would be so _nice_ , being Sinbad's live-in boyfriend. No, not boyfriend. He hasn't asked you to be his _boyfriend._ Judal pouts a little at the thought. "Would you date me?" Kind of impossible to ask. "You know, hypothetically." 

 

Sinbad blinks. “Aren’t we on a date right now? Hell, you slept over and I cooked for you, either we’re on a date or I’m your babysitter, and as you pointed out...you’re twenty-three.”

 

"Oh." Judal blinks back at him. "I thought this was just you trying… to get me to sign on or something. And the sex was kind of a bonus…" 

 

Sinbad snorts. “You’re your own agent, aren’t you? When I talk about contracts, I’m trying to get you to sign on. When I talk about how good you look spread out on my floor, or how cute you look when you’re eating bacon, it’s because I like having you in my house.” He shrugs. “But if you’d like to talk about business, we can do that. I’d rather just talk, though. I get enough work at work.”

 

"No, I'd much rather talk about the other things, I just--" Judal flops forward, cheek pressing to the countertop with a pout. "Sorry," he eventually, grumpily adds. "I'm not _used_ to this. I want to have fun with you, not talk about work. No one else is any fun, or if they are, they still have something else in mind."

 

“So what do you like to do for fun?” Sinbad reaches out a hand, scratching gently through Judal’s hair. “When you’re not working or hanging around with the Rens, what do you like to do? Sports? Videogames? Furniture decorating, competitive baking, throwing vegetables at other vegetables in protest?”

 

"The last part sounds fun." It's a little hard to concentrate when Sinbad is petting his hair like that, and Judal sighs, eyes lidding as he nearly goes limp. "Uh… mnn, not like I have a lot of time off. I work out and stuff. Like swimming."

 

“Really?” Sinbad leans forward, brushing his lips over the curve of Judal’s ear as he murmurs, “When I was young, I’d never seen the ocean. When I moved out here, I was so taken with it that I started swimming every day. Learned to surf and everything.”

 

Judal thinks he hears about half of that, what with the shiver that rakes down his spine. "… Really like the beach," he manages. "We should go sometime. You know, when it's not so cold." 

 

“Sounds good.” Sinbad scrapes the edge of his teeth just barely over the soft skin of Judal’s ear. “Guess I’ll have to make sure to keep you happy until it gets warm, hmm?”

 

"Ahh… yeah… that," Judal mutters, listing to the side to butt his head against Sinbad's shoulder. "Quit it, or we're not gonna get on film this time either." _Not that I even care at this point. Just want you_. 

 

“Mmm, you make a good point.” Sinbad straightens up, ignoring the kitchen mess (the cleaning lady gets paid plenty), and tugging on Judal’s hand. “You really like being bitten, hmm? You look like you got attacked by a tiger, and you know I’m not going to be able to stop.”

 

"Like being bitten, like biting," Judal sighs, sliding out of his seat and all but tumbling his way after Sinbad. "I'm gonna get in _trouble_ , it looks like you tried to eat me. You should do it more." 

 

“In for a penny, in for a pound,” Sinbad agrees cheerfully, leaning down to bite at Judal’s neck as he walks, hands coming up to pinch and tickle at the young man’s sides. It’s not _his_ fault Judal is so pinchable, after all.

 

Judal _squeaks_ , turning around and grabbing at Sinbad's ponytail in revenge as he rather deliberately backs himself into a wall. " _Mean_ \--I told you, we're not even gonna be able to _film it_ if you keep this up." 

 

“Maybe I should just throw you over my shoulder?” Sinbad all but purrs, urging Judal along with grabbing hands, laughing and trying to make the kid _squirm_. The tug to his ponytail does nothing but make him growl, shooing Judal into the nearest room. “Take your clothes off while I set up.”

 

"It's _your_ shirt, sure you don't want me to keep it on?" Times like this he kind of _does_ wish he had a thong on or something, Sinbad would probably really get off on seeing that peeking out from underneath his own shirt. Judal flops back onto the bed nonetheless, plucking at the buttons lazily. "Smells like you. Can I take it with me, when I go home?" 

 

Sinbad spares a glance over his shoulder to see Judal laying there plucking at his shirt, and damn, if he wasn’t hard _before_ …

 

“You can take anything you want. Yeah, you’re right, it looks better on, far be it from me to second guess your instincts.” He sets up the key light, the fill and the diffuser, then lastly a couple of cameras, flicking them both on. “You want to say hi before we start?”

 

Judal hums, unbuttoning the first few buttons and not much more as he beams at the camera, stretching his arms up deliberately to pull his hair back up into its usual ponytail. "Just 'hi', hmm? Okay," he sighs, flopping forward onto his elbows, ass deliberately wriggling as it hikes up. "Hi, I'm Judal, and I'm Sin's new _pet._ " 

 

Sinbad flicks on the last camera, then turns off the overhead light, crawling down on top of Judal. “No tricks,” he murmurs, “and no mugging for the camera. This isn’t getting sold, this is just so I can remember how well I fucked you.” 

 

He drags a hand down Judal’s abs, palming his cock slowly. “You’re already thinking about getting my cock in you, aren’t you, my new _pet_?”

 

Judal wants to protest--it's not like he _tries_ to perform, anyway--but the words disappear from his tongue when Sinbad's hands are on him again, a shudder raking down his spine and his legs immediately, eagerly splaying wide. 

 

"What else is there to _think_ about?" Ugh, _god_ , Sinbad has nice hands. Judal's eyes flutter, his own scraping down Sinbad's back, running down his sides and hooking into the waist of his boxer. "Off," he lowly demands. 

 

Sinbad loses the boxers without a second thought, pushing his shirt up higher on Judal’s body and leaning down to _bite_ , finding new, unmarked spots all the time and setting gleefully about ruining them. “On your knees this time,” he suggests. “I want to get as deep in you as possible and feel you writhe.”

 

The _idea_ of that is enough to make him writhe, but Judal manages a little nod, twisting over as quickly as he can manage. He fumbles with a few more of the buttons, letting the shirt just cling to his shoulders instead, easily hiked up as he settles onto his knees, sinking down to his elbows with a little shudder. "You were pretty deep last time," he breathlessly points out, cock twitching at the memory, his toes curling a bit. 

 

“Yeah. You took me really well, I was impressed,” Sinbad murmurs, sliding a hand down Judal’s spine. He spends a few long minutes just running his hands over Judal’s body, stroking, caressing, trying to feel every inch of him just in case they don’t get to do this again for a long time. “When you’re ready,” he says softly in Judal’s ear, “use the lube, open yourself up for me.”

 

There's no way he could reach for it fast enough. Judal's fingers are slick with the stuff when he squirms to twist back, dragging fingers so eager that they shake as they drag over his own hole, mouth falling open at the _soreness_ from just the night prior, the ache of wriggling one, two fingers inside and making himself slick and ready all over again. A huff of breath, and Judal buries his face down into the sheets, a hitching little whine leaving his throat. "Want you really bad." His eyes squeeze shut as he works in a third finger, groaning as his body lurches back onto his own hand. "N-need it, your cock is so much better--"

 

Sinbad leans down, sliding in another finger along with Judal’s, longer, at a better angle, twisting slowly. “You,” he murmurs, “look good when you’re stuffed full. Damn, you’re still sore and red from last night. You sure you can take me again?”

 

He doesn’t ask if Judal wants him to wear a condom. If he didn’t last time, he probably doesn’t this time, and the thought of taking him raw like this again is enough to get Sinbad achingly hard.

 

Sinbad's fingers are _bigger_ than his by far, and to have one inside, along with three of his own--Judal chokes on a high, breathy sound, already feeling so overfull that it _aches,_ and he twists to try and spread his legs a bit more, even as they shake so hard that he can barely keep himself upright. "I… I c-can do it… god, even your fingers are big."

 

Sinbad moves, grabbing Judal’s wrist and easing his fingers out, pinning both of his wrists down to the bed. He lets the head of his cock rub against the inside of one smooth thigh, dragging a trail of clear fluid up as he leans down over Judal’s back. “Your legs are spread so wide...looks like you really want me.” He presses a kiss to the back of Judal’s shoulder, the head of his cock just barely pressing against his hole. “Do you?”

 

A desperate noise pulls from Judal's throat, more a mewl than anything else, and he tries to wriggle back no matter how he's held, the press of Sinbad's cock against him promising a thick stretch that makes him groan. " _Need_ you," he begs, wishing he could spread his legs even wider. His own cock throbs, already dripping onto the sheets as he squirms, arching his back. "N-need you, your fingers, whatever else you wanna put in me--just-- _please_ \--"

 

“At some point,” Sinbad promises, his voice low, almost a threat, “I’m going to tie you down to the bed and toy with you all day, putting all sorts of things inside you. I wonder how loud I can make you scream?” He scrapes his teeth down the side of Judal’s neck. “And for how long?” _I wonder if I can make you scream my name,_ he thinks darkly, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pushes the head of his cock inside.

 

That first stretch makes him _whine_ , high and breathy and close to sobbing at how he _aches_ with that thick cock opening him up again. Judal's legs tremble, chest heaving as he tries to squirm back, all the more turned on by the idea of Sinbad just tying him down, fucking him, stuffing him full, not even just with his cock--with toys, whatever he _wanted_ \--

 

" _Please_ \--" Is he begging for that, or for Sinbad to fuck him harder? God, Judal doesn't even _know_. He groans, thrashing against the man's hold on his wrists, trying desperately to slide back further on Sinbad's cock. "Need you to fuck me, need you in really deep--"

 

“Gonna take you deep,” Sinbad promises. “Deep, and hard--but first, I want you to feel every inch.”

 

It’s torture to go so slow, but it’s _worth it_ , worth it with the agonizing stretch around him, how somehow Judal manages to stay so _tight_ , and Sinbad really can’t tell who he’s torturing more. It doesn’t matter when it’s so _good_ , and Sinbad lets out a long, low groan at the tight clench around him. “You...god. You like it when your Daddy fucks you with that big cock?”

 

It's _unfair_ how Judal can feel every inch of Sinbad sinking into him like this, even more unfair how he's helpless to do anything but shiver and squirm and _take it_ , his mouth falling open as he sucks in a deep, desperate gulp of air, and ah, god, Sinbad's in him so _deep_ that he's not sure he can stand it.

 

"…T…too much," Judal whimpers, and his body just clenches _tighter_ as he says it, a hiccuping, desperate sound escaping him. "Your little girl's t-trying to be good, Daddy, your cock is just so _big_ \--"

 

“She can take it.” Sinbad presses a kiss to Judal’s neck, nuzzling down with little sucks and bites, running his hands up and down Judal’s sides as he sinks in as deep as he can get, finally nestling his hips tight against Judal’s ass. “Look at that, what a good girl, taking all her Daddy’s cock like that.” He rocks in slowly, pressing in harder, eyes half-closed in bliss. “So tight and sweet around me, baby...squeeze that ass around me, you know what your Daddy likes.”

 

There's nothing, _nothing_ like those words, the sound of someone else getting off so much from _him_. Judal's cock _aches_ , twitching and throbbing as Sinbad fucks him, shuddering as he clenches tight around that thick cock, squirming his way back and rubbing his face down into the bed, biting the sheets when Sinbad presses just shy of _right_. "God," he groans, trembling, sweat beading at his brow as it furrows with the deep, _hard_ slide of Sinbad's cock inside of him. "God, you feel so _good_ \--"

 

“That feel good?” Sinbad’s breath is rough, uneven as he rolls his hips slowly, pulling out just a few inches before sliding back in, over and over, hands gripping Judal’s waist tight. “Come on, baby, ride back on me, let me see how much you love my cock.” It’s easy to tell Judal loves it, can’t get _enough_ , just from how he trembles and moans, and Sinbad can’t help but thrust in harder with every lewd noise from Judal’s throat.

 

Judal doesn't need to be told twice. He wriggles back with a ragged gasp, grabbing the sheets for some kind of leverage as he humps his way back, a high, mewling whine escaping his lips as he throws his head back. "You have the best cock, Daddy," he groans, heaving out a ragged breath at that slick, tight slide of Sinbad's cock. "Fuck me _hard_ , I wanna feel you come--ahh, mark me up this time, come _on_ me--"

 

Just those words make Sinbad _ache_ , cock throbbing inside Judal, hard and eager. “What a good girl,” he breathes, and rewards Judal with a few hard, deep thrusts, pulling out farther so he can hit every good spot on the way in. “Where do you want my come, huh? Your pretty face, or your pretty ass?” He punctuates the question with a sharp slap to Judal’s rear, yanking him back into it.

 

It takes a moment to answer that when his chest _heaves_ , his body shaking so hard he thinks he might pass out with every hard, _perfect_ thrust, every slap of those big, strong hands that makes his legs buckle out from under him and his own cock twitch. "I… ah, _god_ ," Judal moans, biting into the sheets again when his eyes roll back. "C-come on my face, Daddy--wanna be able to taste you, lick you up--"

 

Sinbad gives another sharp bite to Judal’s neck, then pulls out, flipping Judal onto his back, long years of practice making sure he’s getting a good angle without really putting any thought into it. “Touch yourself,” he orders breathlessly. “I want to see you jack your pretty cock when I’m coming on your face, baby girl.” 

 

The words turn into a groan at the end as he fists his own cock, and Judal’s eager, expectant, flushed face is the last thing he sees before he comes hard, shooting slick and messy over Judal’s cheeks, eyelids, and plush soft lips.

 

He _barely_ has time to touch himself, barely needs to even if his fingers reflexively close tight around his own aching cock. Judal all but sobs as he comes hard, spilling over his own fist and stomach as Sinbad comes hot and slick over his face, and he groans, parting his lips to _taste_ what drips over him, eagerly sucking on his own lower lip to lick all of it up. "Fuck," he manages to whisper, and one, already sticky hand lifts to his lips, sucking his own fingers clean before he swipes them over his eyelids to lap at that as well. "You're just… you're not _fair_."

 

Sinbad sags back down to the bed, reaching a hand out to drag his thumb over Judal’s sticky lips before dipping it briefly inside. “Coming from someone who looks like you right now,” he pants, relaxing back onto his elbows, “that’s one hell of a compliment.”

 

Judal's eyes flutter, his mouth eagerly closing around Sinbad's thumb to suck it into his mouth with a wriggle of his tongue. "God," he moans, grabbing at Sinbad's wrist to keep his hand close. "Want you to _keep_ me." 

 

Sinbad strokes his thumb over the soft drag of Judal’s tongue, an almost surprised expression of affection on his face. “If it’s up to me,” he murmurs, other hand coming up to stroke through Judal’s hair, “I’ll never let you go.”

 

Ugh, that sounds _nice_.

 

Judal lets his eyes contently slide mostly shut, hazy and out of focus as he licks and nibbles at Sinbad's thumb, content to lie there sated and messy when it all feels so _good_ \--

 

And then the doorbell rings.

 

With a growl, he tightens his hand on Sinbad's wrist. "Not allowed," he petulantly mutters.

 

Sinbad stretches out, wrapping his arm around Judal and nestling up behind him. “If it’s Ja’far or the cleaning lady, they have keys. If it’s anyone else, they can fuck off. I’m busy.”

 

Judal likes that answer. He wriggles back against Sinbad with a happy little noise, butting up underneath the other man's chin. "You make a great pillow," he sighs. "Hey, if I stayed, do I get to sleep in your bed with you?" 

 

The doorbell rings again. Judal growls.

 

Sinbad tightens his hold on Judal, burying his face in the kid’s hair. “Sure you can. This one, or the other one? You can have all of them at once piled together for all I care.” _Go the fuck away, I’m busy._

 

"Don't care as long as you're in it," Judal fairly purrs, nuzzling at Sinbad's neck. "Wanna curl up like this with you all the time. You're _warm_."

 

The doorbell comes with an annoyed knock this time. "Hey, c'mon! I'm not waiting around for my health, Judal, I know you're there!"

 

Oh.

 

Oh, _shit_.

 

Judal slinks back into Sinbad's chest with a grimace, wishing he could pull something over his face.

 

The voice is unfamiliar, and Sinbad’s brows draw together. “You want me to get rid of this clown?”

 

"… Ah… no," Judal mutters, raking a hand back through his bangs. "Well, I mean, I guess you could try. He's… always really persistent, it'd probably just be best if I go…"

 

“But I don’t want you to go. I’m good at telling people to fuck off, just wait here,” Sinbad murmurs, nuzzling a kiss behind Judal’s ear. He climbs up, tugging on his boxers. “Give me two minutes, I’ll be back.”

 

Judal hesitates, but slowly nods, wriggling his way down into the sheets. "If you're sure," he hedges, unable to keep from grinning a bit at the fact that someone _wants_ him to stay, and would deal with that _brat_ for him. "Just--he's kind of a bitch, fair warning."

 

“I’ll be careful,” Sinbad assures him with a grin. He tugs a dressing gown over his shoulders, not bothering to tie it shut, and closes the door behind him as he strides out to the living room, unlocking the door with a raised eyebrow. 

 

Ah. 

 

Not exactly what he was expecting. “Can I help you?” he asks the startlingly pretty boy standing with a hip cocked out on his doorstep.

 

Kouha's eyebrows immediately shoot up. "Ah," he says, glancing down at his phone before looking back up at Sinbad. Even in the cold weather, he's still dressed less-than-braced for it, with ribbed socks that might as well be thigh highs clinging to rather shapely legs and a wool, button-up coat thrown over what is probably little more than a shirt and shorts. "Should've figured out this was _your_ apartment. So you've been playing with Judal, huh? Hand him over, En's mad enough already."  

 

Sinbad folds his arms, unable to keep himself from giving the boy a long, lingering look--boy? Girl? Boy, probably--up and down. Definitely pretty, with the hair and the look that marks him as Kou Studios property, and the attitude that marks him as _family_. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s not here. And you are?”

 

A long-suffering sigh follows. "Kouha Ren," he introduces, and immediately tips his head to peer around Sinbad into his apartment. "I _know_ he's there. GPS," he offers, holding up his phone with a little wave of it. "Juuu, c'mon, En's _mad_ at you!" 

 

Damn GPS and the modern world. Sinbad folds his arms, shifting his weight in a slightly more confrontational manner. “The one who gets bounced around expensive boarding schools, right? Should have known. He’s not here. Left his phone in my car, I brought it up to keep it safe. Want it back?”

 

Kouha's eyes immediately roll. "You smell like sex," he bluntly says. "Nice bite marks, too. Got a girl that likes to nibble? With--" He reaches up, plucking a long, dark hair from Sinbad's shoulder. "Long, black hair? Not usually your type." 

 

Sinbad’s hand darts out to catch Kouha’s wrist, giving it a squeeze. “Careful,” he warns. “I’m not one of your brother’s little pets. You have no right to be in my space.”

 

The younger man's lips slowly curve, and he stretches up on tiptoe, tugging his wrist away with a delicate little pull. "No? Sounds like that might make it a little more _fun_. According to your stuff from back in the day, you _like_ it when someone invades your personal space." 

 

Kouha’s got more muscle on him than Sinbad had anticipated, that’s for sure. Then again, judging by what he’s heard of the family, he probably uses it for things that would land him in prison if he were a less wealthy boy. “I had standards back then. Little boys who look like little girls aren’t my type.”

 

Kouha laughs outright at that. "What a load of bullshit. Seriously, just tell him to get his stuff and clean up and let's go. My driver's not gonna wait all day and I'm getting sick and tired of listening to En bitch." 

 

“You,” Sinbad says slowly, “seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that you can come to my home and tell me what to do. Get out, or I’ll call security.” _I’d rather deal with you myself, but that would cause a fuss and Ja’far would be pissed._

 

"Ooh, scary. You," Kouha breathes, leaning forward to tap a finger against Sinbad's chest, "could stand for someone to loosen you up. If Judal isn't doing it for you, then you've got a real problem on your hands."

 

The urge to put his hands on the boy is almost overwhelming. It’s harder than it should be to laugh, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you volunteering for the job? I think I’d have to check ID.”

 

Kouha's eyelashes bat. "I'm old enough for you, or so I've heard. Let me come in, maybe all three of us can have a little fun. I know what really makes Judal _tick_." 

 

Sinbad extends an arm across the doorframe. “Out. He’s not here, and I don’t want to deal with you again.” He shuts the door, watching through the peephole to see how long it takes Kouha to get the message.

 

A huff, and an annoyed, booted kick to the door is Kouha's response before he lingers a moment longer prior to stalking away.

 

"… Are you watching his ass, or him?" is Judal's wry reply as he pokes his head around the corner of the hall. "Is he gone? Told you he's annoying."

 

“No ass to watch, skinny thing like him,” Sinbad mutters, turning away and smiling at the sight of Judal. He crosses the distance quickly, tilting Judal’s face up for a long kiss before murmuring against his lips, “I’d deal with a lot more annoying shit than that to keep you here.”

 

Judal _wants_ to relax as much as he had earlier, but now it's close to impossible, with the knowledge that they know where he _is_. He sighs, sinking back onto his heels, frowning a little against Sinbad's lips. "Sorry. Should've answered Kouen's calls from earlier. I kinda… left my phone out on your balcony so I wouldn't have to listen to it." 

 

Sinbad laughs. “Very naughty. You could just turn it off, you know.” He tugs Judal closer, letting his fingers brush over Judal’s neck. “If you don’t want to be here for a while, let’s go out. I’ll take you...hmm. Ice skating? Lunch? I’ll fly us to wine country for the day if you want.”

 

"If I turned it off, he'd just get _madder_." He huffs, butting his face into Sinbad's shoulder. "You're too nice." _I'm gonna get used to it, that's annoying._

 

One large hand comes up to stroke Judal’s hair, the other sliding around his waist. “That’s not a yes. Are you saying you want to leave?”

 

"… I should probably just go back," is the eventual, reluctant reply. _Why?_ a little voice asks, and it makes him tired thinking about all the reasons why he shouldn't bother. Sinbad's offered to let him stay here, is offering to feed and house him and pay for whatever he needs--

 

Then again, there's a lot of people that have said that. 

 

"We can hook up again later. You know, after I make sure Kouen's not gonna fire me or something." Judal pulls back, scrubbing a hand back through his hair. "Sorry. Business, you know about all that." 

 

Sinbad starts to protest--but then memory reminds him of another time, another man who had tugged on his ponytail and softly asked him to stay, when the lure of stardom and the dreams had been too big for him to wait. “Yeah. I understand.”

 

He squeezes Judal tight around the waist with a little sigh. “I’ll be here, or at the studio, and you have my cell number if you ever want me. You want me to drive you back, or will you take a cab?”

 

Judal sets his teeth down into Sinbad's shoulder, a light nibble to silence his own tongue from going off on a dozen reasons about why Sinbad should ask him one more time to stay, because he'll probably give in if he does it just _one more time_. "Cab." Not the answer he wants to give. "He's already gonna be mad that I was here. I don't want you to have to deal with him."

 

Sinbad cups Judal’s face in his hands, holding his gaze. “I would,” he says simply. “Kouen or Kouha or anyone else, if it meant I got to keep you here with me.”

 

He brushes a last kiss over those pretty lips, letting Judal go with a rueful grin, tying his hair back. “Get your stuff, if you’re going to go. Or you’ll tempt me to keep it so I can drag you back here.”

 

Judal's nose scrunches up as he rocks back onto his heels. "I'll call you," he promises, though at this point, he's a little worried that it might be a lie. "Enjoy that video while I'm not here, okay?"

 

“Over and over again,” Sinbad promises. He gives Judal’s ass a gentle slap, sending him on his way before he really does just toss the kid over his shoulder and keep him. “If I don’t see you in a week, I’ll come kidnap you.”

 

"Yeah, yeah." _As if Kouen will let you anywhere near the studio from now on._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_If I don’t see you in a week, I’ll come kidnap you._

 

It’s been two weeks. 

 

Sinbad stares sadly at his phone, stubbornly refusing to give him Judal’s voice for more than a few seconds of breathy, tense “Sorry, not right now” and “Gotta go!” no matter what time of night he calls.

 

He winds up flopping down onto the on-set bed, slumping facefirst into satin sheets and letting out a noise between a sigh and a groan. “How illegal is it to kidnap adults?” he asks somewhat petulantly, face squashed against the sheets as he stares at Ja’far.

 

Ja'far doesn't quite look up from his inventory clipboard. "Very. As in the other night when you attempted to drag me bodily home with you--I probably could have sued." 

 

“But that doesn’t count. If you can sue your kidnapper you haven’t been kidnapped very well.”

 

"So take a course in it or something." Ja'far _does_ lift his gaze then. "If you practice on me, I cannot be responsible for my actions, however."

 

“You’re not very accommodating when I’m unhappy.” Sinbad flops over onto his side, waving a hand semi-dramatically down at himself. “Look how unhappy I am. I’ve worn the same pants two days in a row.”

 

"I was hoping this lovestruck thing was a phase, or perhaps that you were merely surrendering to your drunkard tendencies once and for all." Ja'far pauses, looking at him and shaking his head. "You do look very pathetic, though. More so than usual." 

 

“Being drunk would be more fun. Will you get drunk with me?” Sinbad asks hopefully, sitting up a bit at the prospect. “I’ll be cheerful if I’m drunk with you.”

 

"No. You can't make promises like that when you _know_ you're awful and entirely useless when you're drunk." He sighs, tapping his pen lightly against his clipboard. "Honestly, why are you so worked up over this kid?"

 

“I don’t know. It’s dumb. Make me feel better.” Sinbad tosses a pillow at Ja’far halfheartedly. “Let me buy you dinner.”

 

Ja'far blocks it equally halfheartedly with his clipboard. "Why would spending your money on someone else make you feel better? Sounds more stressful than anything to me."

 

“No, it’ll get my mind off of him,” Sinbad insists, and sits up, quite taken with the idea now. “I hardly ever see you eat. You _do_ eat, don’t you? Or do you live on tea and my cigarettes?”

 

A bland stare follows the words before Ja'far simply sighs. "Yes, I eat." _Apparently well enough that you feel the need to pinch my thighs regularly_. "Honestly, Sin, you just need to let it go. You knew what you were getting into with that kid."

 

“Not _really_. It could have been a lot more dangerous than it probably is,” Sinbad points out, and sighs. “It isn’t as if Kouen likes me much anyway, and I didn’t broach any contract rules or union protocols. There’s not a thing he can legally do to touch me, and if he tries anything else...well, that’s why I have you, isn’t it?”

 

"You really enjoy making my job more difficult, don't you?" 

 

Sinbad shrugs. “It’s a perk of being myself. Seriously, can I take you to dinner? We can talk about something besides _work_ and how stupid I am, it’ll be a nice change.”

 

Ja'far opens his mouth to argue once more before shutting it again with a long, world-weary sigh. "… This won't be a regular thing," he eventually, reluctantly says. Sinbad _does_ look awfully pathetic.

 

Sinbad was wrong, this is the best day of his life. He springs from the bed with all the energy of a newborn colt, snatching Ja’far up by the waist and hurrying him towards the exit before he can change his mind. “Excellent! All right, what shall we have? Chinese, Indian, sushi, burritos--there’s a great fine dining place on Sunset I’ve been wanting to go back to, but I never had a date hot enough. What do you like?”

 

Somehow, he manages to wriggle away for the few seconds it takes to snatch his wallet off of his desk. "'Never had a date hot enough'--Sin, we've been over this. I blend in with your furniture. And I really don't care," Ja'far exasperatedly replies, pulling on his coat. "Honestly, food is food."

 

Sinbad scowls. “You sound like you don’t trust me to know who I’m attracted to. Shall I be clearer?” he asks mildly, snaking his hand down to squeeze one cheek of Ja’far’s ass, opening the car door with the other hand.

 

He's getting good with his aim when it comes to reflexively slapping Sinbad's hands away. "Is this dinner, or an extension of the 'daily sexual harassment with Sinbad' show?" Ja'far mutters, squirming away to drop himself into the car all the same.

 

“Can’t it be both? We’re not at dinner yet, after all.”

 

Sinbad slides into the driver’s seat, buckling in as he adds, “Don’t worry, there can be more sexual harassment with Sinbad later. In fact, you’re welcome to plan on it.”

 

For the second time that evening, Ja'far finds himself just… opening his mouth and then shutting it again. "The office is bad enough. Please refrain from doing as much in _public._ "

 

“If you like. Though if you don’t want to be grabbed, you might want to try being less...mm, grabbable. If you can.” Sinbad chuckles to himself, turning onto the freeway. “What am I saying, of course you can’t.”

 

Ja'far heaves a long-suffering sigh. "Why am I the only one that you like having fat on?" 

 

“You just wear it really well. Why won’t you let me film you? Say you’re unattractive all you want, but if I don’t believe it, there’s a good chance our customers won’t either. And you work for me, so you can’t be _that_ shy.”

 

And now they're back to this. Ja'far rolls his eyes as he leans back into the seat. "I make enough money in my current position, thank you. Also, you don't want me. I hardly have the mind for sex."

 

Sinbad grins, muttering under his breath, “You’ve certainly got the body for it,” as he turns into the valet parking. “Treat her right, yeah?” he says to the valet, tossing him the keys. “No food allergies, right, Ja’far?”

 

 _I heard that_. Maybe one of these days, Sinbad will be a little less asking for a lawsuit. It's a good thing it's _him_ , and not someone less tolerant or familiar with the man's tendencies. "Hardly," is his snort as he climbs from the car, pulling his coat tighter around himself. "Sin, honestly, somewhere expensive isn't necessary." 

 

“It’s necessary for _me_. Why make money palm over slippery fist if I never get to enjoy it?” It’s nice to have Ja’far on his arm as he enters, the waiters edging each other out to try and take him to a table. _Either my reputation precedes me or I just look like a big tipper._ “The steak tartare they do here is unsurpassed,” he murmurs to Ja’far as the lucky waiter seats them. 

 

The light from the hanging candles hits Ja’far’s moonlight hair, and Sinbad’s breath falters for a moment. How is it possible that Ja’far just doesn’t _see_ what he sees? Does he not own a mirror? Though to tell the truth, Sinbad isn’t even sure what it _is_ he sees, other than something he _wants_.

 

For the umpteenth time, Ja'far wants to remind Sinbad that _this isn't a date, this isn't necessary, this is really wasted on me_ but it would fall on deaf ears, and that aside--well, he'd be lying if he said he didn't like this, just a little bit.

 

"I will never understand what is _necessary_ about this to you," he says all the same as he settles into his seat. "Next time, we can just go to one of our apartments or something."

 

“But every time I invite you to my apartment you accuse me of just trying to get into your pants,” Sinbad points out. “And worse, you don’t even let me into your pants.”

 

"You say that as if my accusations aren't correct, and it isn't as if you haven't tried to do the same this evening three times already." Ja'far's eyebrows slowly arch. "You'd be disappointed, trust me."

 

“Have you left a trail of disappointed men behind?” Sinbad asks with a grin, signaling the sommelier with the beckon of a finger, ordering a bottle of one of his favorite wines. “Besides me, I mean. I thought you were too young when we met to have left much of a following, but you said you were older than you looked…”

 

"I'm 25, do the math." _Disappointed men--give me a break._ "I don't have a 'following.' I'm saying you'd be disappointed because you _would_ be. I'm hardly the porn stars and models you end up dating." 

 

Sinbad levels a gaze at him. “I did date before I became a porn star, you know,” he says mildly, taking a long sip of wine. “I do know what it’s like to be with someone that does everything because it feels _good_ , and because it’s exactly what they want to do. There’s nothing wrong with that, and anyone who’s disappointed in that isn’t worth your time.”

 

He might need to be a little drunk for this himself, if this is how the evening is going to keep going. "You say that as if I date and deal with people in the first place," Ja'far retorts, taking a sip from his own glass. "Also, forgive me, but you _do_ seem to have a type, and I hardly fit it." 

 

Sinbad narrows his eyes. “If you’re so uninterested in me, please just tell me,” he says simply. “If you find me unappealing, or my personality bothers you so much, or you simply prefer women, please tell me. Then you wouldn’t have to spend your time trying to convince me that I don’t want to throw you over this table right now when I very, very definitely do.”

 

Ja'far tries not to inelegantly choke on his wine. He sort of _half_ succeeds. "I--" Right. He's flushed because he's trying not to die an early death by wine, that's his excuse and he's sticking to it. "… I don't _date_ ," he attempts lamely. "That is--I haven't before. And I certainly haven't let people throw me over _tables_." 

 

“Doesn’t have to be a table. Could be my bed, sofa, the backseat of my car…” Sinbad cuts himself off, a bit flushed from the wine. “Just because you haven’t done something before is no reason not to try it. Then you’ll never do anything. And just because you don’t _date_ doesn’t…”

 

He trails off, the words clicking a bit late in his head, and he nearly sprays wine all over the table when he realizes what Ja’far had intimated. “Does that--do you mean you haven’t--”

 

"We're not talking about this." It isn't something he's _ashamed_ of. Not at all, the exact opposite in fact--he simply doesn't _care_. The problem is the way that Sinbad says it, like it should be some sort of a _crime_ that he's never taken someone to bed or been taken to bed. _Why does it even matter?_ is Ja'far's irritable inner monologue, and he downs back the rest of his wine glass. Yes, he definitely needs to be closer to drunk for all of this.

 

 _Back off, he’s getting irritable._ Then again, sometimes when Ja’far is irritable he talks in that _adorable_ little accent…

 

No, best not push it.

 

“So why books?” he asks instead, relaxing back into his chair. “Books, and numbers. Did you want to go to school for it, or is it just a hobby?”

 

"… I have a degree now, you know. I realize you are a busy man and don't review current employees' updated resumes, but believe it or not, it is _not_ in the 'art of keeping a porn studio's taxes tidy.'" Ja'far reaches for a piece of bread, peeling the crust off first to nibble on that. "But to answer your question--numbers make sense, even yours, when you are entirely infuriating." 

 

“Ah--right, I meant to congratulate you on that,” Sinbad says weakly. “I _did_ notice, wasn’t it a Business degree? We can call tonight a celebration of that, if you want. Didn’t I send you a card, flowers, something like that? I have a distinct memory of sending you flowers.”

 

Ja'far merely gives him a wry stare, not even of the mind to correct him on every detail. It's actually sort of perplexingly cute that the man seems so _stressed_ by it. "Sin, it was over a year ago. You tried to give me a day off of work, I refused. Let's consider tonight a celebration of 'I'll leave that Kou Studios kid alone so I don't get a restraining order filed against me' instead."

 

“Right!” Sinbad exclaims. “I _knew_ I did something for you! Are you sure you don’t want a day off work? You don’t even take most holidays off, if I remember correctly.” Not that he’s the best at noticing, not when he’s usually so eager to leave early and get to work late unlike Ja’far.

 

"I don't take any holidays off." Ja'far tops his own wine glass off, and Sinbad's, too, for good measure. "Days off give me hives. I will pass, thank you." 

 

Sinbad chuckles to himself, draining most of that glass in one gulp. “And you’re probably why we’re so successful. I couldn’t have done it without you, my friend.”

 

"You _are_ astoundingly awful with finances."

 

“Though your capacity to turn every compliment into an insult at my expense is something I could do without.”

 

"And here I thought you sort of liked it, judging by how your hands tend to gravitate towards me in response."

 

Sinbad arches a brow. “So, I try to steer the conversation towards something nonsexual you’re good at for once, and you steer the topic back to my hands on your body. What does _that_ tell me, pray tell?”

 

Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, but not before taking a long drink of his wine. "That I need to be far more drunk for this conversation." 

 

Sinbad laughs, signaling the waiter for another bottle. “And here I’ve never seen you drink even this much of something that isn’t tea. What’s so special about tonight? I’ve tried to browbeat you into letting me feed you a hundred times.”

 

"… You looked exceptionally pathetic," is Ja'far's reluctant admittance. "And I would much rather let you take me out to dinner than have you keep chasing after that kid. He's nothing but trouble, for you and your company." 

 

“Are you saying you’re some kind of consolation prize? Because I’ll have you know you’re worth _far_ more to me than that.” It’s a bit sappy, but Sinbad reaches out a hand, resting it over Ja’far’s. All right, Ja’far is right, he _does_ feel far too glad of a simple thing like a hand’s warmth, but that’s fine, right? It’s all right to be a sappy sot for human contact occasionally, isn’t it?

 

"Sin," Ja'far sighs, less long-suffering and now only more mildly put out than anything. For what it's worth, he doesn't pull his hand away, his fingers loosely curling beneath Sinbad's. "I'm your accountant. Are you sure you aren't simply saying that because I talk to all the idiots for you and make sure you make the most money you possibly can?"

 

“I don’t care about money.” True, now that he has enough of it to feed himself and live in fairly fabulous luxury. “Is what I’ve built...does it do anything for you? I know it’s me you follow, not the studio, but do you...believe in it, in what I’m trying to do?”

 

"If I didn't, do you _really_ think I would be working for you at all? I am not a blind tagalong, you know." He twists his hand free to give Sinbad's a little flick. "You ask fairly stupid questions when drunk." 

 

In retaliation, Sinbad just squeezes his hand. “That,” he says softly, bringing Ja’far’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back of it, “makes me feel better than anything has in weeks.”

 

Ah.

 

His face flushes hot, and he knows, _knows_ it has little to nothing to do with being pleasantly warmed by the wine. "… Must you?" It's a weak protest at this point, at the vey best.

 

“Much like all the very best of things that I do, no, I mustn’t.” Sinbad squeezes Ja’far’s hand, with no intention of letting it go now that he knows just how nice it is to have in his own. “I don’t need to. But I most certainly want to. So I will.”

 

"Incorrigible," is the low, put-out mutter to follow, even as his fingers hesitantly curl their way up within Sinbad's. "If you ask me to come home with you, you should know that I can't." 

 

“Can’t?” Sinbad cocks his head, thumb rubbing against Ja’far’s palm. “I’d have accepted  won’t at face value, but for _can’t_ you’ll have to give me a reason.”

 

Ja'far glances down, a little too fascinated, probably, by the slide of that calloused thumb against his flesh. He blames the alcohol. "My pets have a very strict feeding regimen."

 

Excuses like that, from someone who doesn’t usually bother with them (and is freely holding his hand in public besides), hint to Sinbad that Ja’far doesn’t _want_ to say no. He leans in, asking low and dark, “Your place, then?”

 

At that, Ja'far hesitates, just a bit. _I don't exactly have guests over_ or _my apartment is nothing like yours, you know that_ are on the tip of his tongue--excuses he _knows_ that Sinbad cares absolutely nothing about. _Why am I letting this happen?_ he asks himself a bit worriedly, tongue flicking out to wet his lower lip. "I… well… if you want," he slowly, carefully agrees.

 

All the stress of the last several days seems to melt away, pooling into something low and hot and sweet, electric at the base of Sinbad’s spine as he nods, hand tightening on Ja’far’s. “It’s a date.”

 

The arrival of the waiter with their food is probably a good thing. Dragging Ja’far into the men’s bathroom to drop to his knees and suck him off probably would be a bit too hasty, all things considered, and the interruption at least saves him from that.

 

Ja'far isn't used to _this_ kind of anxiety.

 

Work is one thing. The stress of a deadline is something he understands, and even the stress or threat of possibly being _killed_ is easier for him to function through. This--the stress that comes with _really not knowing_ and feeling entirely, horribly awkward about the whole thing--is something else entirely.

 

_It shouldn't matter, Sin doesn't care, he wouldn't be interested if he cared._

 

And yet it's a little difficult to sit through the meal and not think about the possibility of making a friendship he's had for over a decade sort of… fall apart, courtesy of his own ineptness (and lack of desire) when it comes to relationships (and with that, sex). 

 

"You're really not going to enjoy this as much as you think you are." That's his story, and he's definitely sticking to it. 

 

“If you say so.”

 

_You couldn’t be more wrong._

 

At least, Sinbad hopes Ja’far is wrong. He can’t help but shoot covert glances at him through the rest of the meal, wondering if maybe Ja’far just really will never like sex, if Sinbad can even have a shot at making him enjoy something he hasn’t felt compelled to seek out for twenty-five years.

 

Then he laughs that off, draining his glass as he finishes his meal. _Doubt isn’t like me. Of course I can. Just as soon as he gives me a chance._

 

“So how many of those things do you have, anyway?” he asks, waiting for Ja’far to finish eating.

 

"Things?" A blink, and Ja'far takes his time to finish swallowing before replying. "Ah. You mean my snakes. A few more than the last time you came over." 

 

“Are you any better at keeping them locked up?” Sinbad asks, a little wary, remembering the _last_ time he’d gone over to Ja’far’s apartment. “I mean, I know they’re, uh, _cute_ , but you can’t just let them wander around when they could hurt someone.” _Someone meaning me, because you’re so good with them it’s a little creepy._

 

"I'm very good at keeping them in their enclosures," Ja'far mildly replies, setting his fork down and draining his own wine glass. "Some of them are just smarter than others. Don't worry, I'll go in before you do and make sure there aren't any venomous species loose."

 

“My hero,” Sinbad says dryly. “Do you want to order dessert? Or...are you ready to go?”

 

"… I think I'm done." There's that little flutter of nervousness again. Ja'far wonders if he is drunk enough for this yet.

 

Sinbad leaves a few bills on the table, enough that he sees the gleam in the waiter’s eyes as he hurries over, and offers Ja’far his arm on the way out to the car. “I think,” he says slowly, trying _hard_ to behave and keep his hands to himself, “you’re _far_ from done. At least, if I have anything to say about it.”

 

"Just don't wreck your car attempting to touch me on the drive over," Ja'far mutters, reaching a tentative hand out to take Sinbad's arm and allow himself to be drawn along and out of the restaurant. "I don't want to file your insurance claims, too." 

 

“I can behave myself,” Sinbad protests, but his heart isn’t really in it.

 

True to his word, he refrains from groping Ja’far on the drive, even though it’s far harder than he would have expected it to be when Ja’far looks so attractive and soft and plush and is sitting _right there_ and knowing that in just a few minutes…

 

He does drive a _bit_ too fast on the way to Ja’far’s apartment, but he’s only human, isn’t he? 

 

“Is there anything you hate?” he asks, once he pulls into the garage. “I mean, from what you’ve tried with yourself if nothing else.”

 

"… Not really?" Then again, it's a little difficult to answer that question when he isn't the most _adventurous_. Human, yes, but a hand is a hand if he's annoyed enough to wake up from an odd dream or two. "I'm boring," Ja'far dryly says, unbuckling his seatbelt to let himself out of the car and fish his keys out from his coat pocket. "Let me go in first--you haven't handled any small animals lately, have you?" 

 

“Only the kind that bite when I tell them to,” Sinbad says cheerfully, dutifully hanging back outside until he gets the all-clear, with the added benefit of watching Ja’far’s ass as he walks in. He does peek his head in; the way Ja’far handles the snakes is an odd kind of sensual all in itself. “Oh, and take the knives off before we get started, I don’t want to wind up bleeding for the wrong reasons.”

 

Only one escapee, fortunately, and a nonvenmous one at that. "Mmn," Ja'far mildly offers, the baby python constricting itself around his wrist as he opens its enclosure to put it back inside. Other than the smattering of glass cages, the one-bedroom apartment is simply and rather spartanly furnished; far easier to clean and care for, as far as Ja'far is concerned, and when has he ever needed anything fancy, anyway? "All right, you can come in--don't go near that rattler's cage on the left, she strikes at the glass and I don't want her hurting herself," he adds, bending to hike up his sweater and unbuckle one knife in particular from the inside of his thigh. 

 

Sinbad enters, sucking in a breath at the sight of the knife strapped to one smooth, soft thigh. The snakes are nothing more than background noise after that, and he shuts the door behind him, walking up to slide his arms around Ja’far’s waist, gently at first, feeling the weight and warmth of him. “Do you know,” he murmurs, turning his head to nuzzle into Ja’far’s hair, “how long I’ve thought of touching you like this?”

 

He was doing _so well_ at suppressing that anxiety.

 

It comes back as a long, achy little shiver, and it takes Ja'far a minute to relax, to think and remind himself that it's Sinbad's arms around him, and if _anyone_ is allowed to touch him like this, it's _Sin_. 

 

"… No," he admits, a little wryly, but turns his head into the nuzzle of his hair all the same. "Nor do I particularly understand it." _Just because everyone in the studio calls me your wife doesn't exactly mean I'm the best material for that._

 

“Years.” Sinbad loosens his grip, hands coming to rest on Ja’far’s slender waist, almost encircling it there, and he bends to brush a few soft kisses over the side of Ja’far’s neck. “I don’t know what it is about you that drives me so crazy, but you always have. Well,” he amends, with a little self-deprecating chuckle, “not _always_. Maybe since you were sixteen or seventeen, not when you were a kid.”

 

"Reassuring, to know you aren't _entirely_ a creep," Ja'far quips, more to settle his nerves than anything else, and he exhales a slow, shaky sigh, his own hands briefly moving to pull a blade from his hip that he had forgotten about before Sinbad can cut himself. "… You have big hands," he adds absent-mindedly, and that shouldn't make him _flush_ as much as it does. "Either that, or I'm smaller than I thought." 

 

“Your waist is smaller than I thought,” Sinbad agrees, one hand finger-walking down Ja’far’s side to slide up under his sweater. “You keep it hidden so well under these big clothes, I thought you’d have more meat on you. Ah,” he remarks, pinching one cheek of Ja’far’s ass, “there it is.”

 

He _doesn't_ squeak at that. No, that would be entirely undignified. He does squirm a bit, though, entirely in spite of himself, and Ja'far huffs, pulling back slightly. "It's a valiant attempt to keep you from sexually harassing me, though I am starting to think I would be better off not trying." 

 

“Mmm, because you hate it so much when I touch you, right?” Sinbad teases, yanking Ja’far back against him, hands sliding up under the sweater to run up and down Ja’far’s abdomen, his sides, his chest. “You don’t enjoy my hands on you at all, right? You’re just doing this to help me get over the Kou kid?”

 

"I--" 

 

That's a squeak that time, and Ja'far _definitely_ squirms, face hotter by the second and ah, damn it, he hadn't really bargained on Sinbad's _hands_ and how good his callouses feel over his flesh--

 

"If that were the case," he manages to rasp out, shivering as he sinks back into Sinbad's chest, "then I think you'd be _upset_." 

 

“I don’t think I could ever be upset with you in my arms.” A bit cheesy, but like most of the cheesy things Sinbad says, it’s entirely true at the moment. The way Ja’far is snuggled up tight against him is delightful, and he walks them both forward, kissing and nuzzling Ja’far’s neck as he urges him towards the bedroom, hands exploring up and down and--

 

Oh.

 

He’d _forgotten_ about that.

 

One thumb comes up under the sweater to stroke over that little silver ring as Sinbad’s breath hitches. “I forgot you had this,” he breathes, eyes alight. “I haven’t seen you with your shirt off for so long.”

 

Why does he even still _wear it?_ Ja'far regrets nostalgia and sentimentality with a groan, gritting his teeth to keep back a very incriminating, throaty noise when Sinbad's fingers pull and pluck at the nipple piercing. "Must you?" It comes out as a gasp, and Ja'far lifts a hand to grab at Sinbad's wrist rather shakily. 

 

Sinbad strokes over the ring, flicking it with his thumb, sitting down on the bed and tugging Ja’far down into his lap before tugging gently on it. “I don’t know. Do you hate it? It _feels_ like you like it.” The hand that isn’t occupied slides down, brushing briefly over the bulge at the front of Ja’far’s pants before moving on to squeeze a soft thigh.

 

It would be a lie to say that he _didn't_. Each tug on it seems to go straight to his cock--funny, because he's never, _ever_ felt like that before, having it idly touched--and Ja'far shudders, twisting to half-bury his face into Sinbad's neck, hands grasping at the other man's shirt in a rather mindless cling. "… Really… sensitive," is the ragged little reply that he manages to form, his legs spreading wider on their own accord.

 

In all of a decade together, Sinbad’s never seen Ja’far like _this_. He _likes_ it, probably more than he should, and it’s a little harder than he’d like it to be to be _gentle_ when he twists and squeezes. “You feel amazing,” he murmurs, and shifts slightly to let Ja’far feel how hard he is. “Look how much I’m enjoying it.”

 

 _Really_ , for all the porn he's been privy to over the years, all the time he's seen Sinbad _naked_ , there's still something entirely different about this that makes his skin flush hot and his breath come that much shorter. 

 

"… You…" Ja'far swallows hard, his breath hitching in his throat. "You can pull harder on it." _Just a little_. 

 

Sinbad hooks the tip of his finger in the little ring, tugging gently, just enough to make himself hiss. “Good,” he breathes, and that’s about all he can take. He tugs the sweater over Ja’far’s head, then dumps him on his back on the bed, crawling over him to take that nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue.

 

Ja'far startles himself with how fast his hands lift, dragging up and through Sinbad's hair as he shudders and _twitches_ beneath each stroke of his tongue. It's not _fair_ , how that stupid, pointless little ring, a mark of his training years, _years_ past, should be so damnably sensitive now of all times. His eyes briefly squeeze shut, his breath too-hot, too-ragged, and his cock throbs, straining against the front of his slacks. When was the last time he was this _hard?_ It's embarrassing to think that at this rate, he could come just from Sinbad pulling on that damned _piercing_. 

 

One of Sinbad’s hands trails up the inside of Ja’far’s thigh, rubbing and caressing and squeezing, as his teeth close around the little metal ring to give it a tug. “You,” he murmurs against Ja’far’s skin, “are completely unfair. I could come just from feeling you under my hands like this.”

 

The retort Ja'far _wants_ to bite out catches in his throat, a breathy, mindless little noise all he manages instead. His nipple _throbs_ , seemingly in time with his pulse, and Ja'far drops his head back into the bed, breathing deep to try and steady himself. "That's a lie," he huffs, almost laughing. "You don't even have me naked yet, I know how you are." 

 

Sinbad grins, flashing white teeth. “I said I _could_. I never said I was going to.” He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Ja’far’s pants, yanking them down. “And I’m certainly not going to stop so soon, no matter what. You should know by now how much stamina I have, you’ve certainly seen me use it often enough.” Though most of that stamina goes out the window at the sight of Ja’far’s thighs, trailing up to...ah.

 

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

 

Again--it's one thing that Sinbad has seen him naked before, that he's seen _Sinbad_ naked before (far too many times to count, honestly). Like this, though… is something else entirely, and it's difficult to suppress the urge to draw his knees up and curl himself into a ball. "I… is that a problem?" he mutters, fairly certain he's going to start _frying_ his freckles with how hot his face is. 

 

“Not a problem.” Sinbad’s voice is hoarse, and he can’t help the urge to lean down, taking a _taste_ of one smooth thigh, hands spreading them slowly open as he nuzzles his way up. He doesn’t have this kind of urge often, but...ah, Ja’far’s cock is _lovely_ , pale and flushed and straight with a little bead of liquid at the top, and Sinbad raises up on his knees, flicking his tongue over the head. For someone who doesn’t smell like anything, Ja’far tastes _good_.

 

It's _good_ that his reflexes are still sharp, and he's fast to clamp a hand over his own mouth, brow knitting as he swallows down a sharp, whining little sound into his throat. It's just a little touch and Ja'far _knows_ that, but it's hard not to squirm, harder still not to buck his hips up, because Sinbad's tongue is hot and slick and ugh, it's unfair how his cock twitches for more _already_. 

 

"Y…you don't… have to do that," he manages weakly. _It's because it's Sin, that's why you're so riled up,_ he's _not fair._

 

Sinbad closes his mouth over the head of Ja’far’s cock, a long, slow suck as his hands run up and down those creamy thighs, one of them sliding up to fiddle with that enticing piercing again, tugging gently as he pulls off, licking sticky lips. “Why?” he asks, voice a little hoarse, Ja’far’s taste still on his tongue. “Don’t you like it? I can’t be _that_ out of practice.”

 

Ah, god, Ja'far is _lightheaded_.

 

He thinks he shakes his head, eyes fluttering as his cheeks flush hot. "N..not that. Just…" He can't even _look_ at Sinbad without his cock jumping, his thighs trying to splay _wider_ as they quiver, and he feels like the basest of harlots in about two seconds, all courtesy of the man's _mouth_. "Just thought… you were going to prefer it the other way around." 

 

Sinbad props himself up on his elbows, an affectionate smile on his face as he wraps a hand around Ja’far’s cock, stroking slowly. “I want you in every way. Do you want to suck me off, is that what you’re saying?” He palms his own cock through his pants, eyes shutting briefly at the thought, and kicks them off to land on the floor, shucking his shirt after. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll do it to you.”

 

"… I've never…" _Thought about it?_ Not entirely true. Sinbad's hands are on him too often for his mind to be entirely idle, and it isn't as if the man isn't _attractive_. It's more… ugh, how does one even _think_ of people like that? Ja'far twists his head to the side briefly, huffing out a hot breath. "I told you I'm boring," he mutters, self-conscious for the first time that he can recall about his lack of experience in this sort of thing. "Though… I am _entirely sure_ that your cock is not going to fit _anywhere_ in me." 

 

Sinbad doesn’t give Ja’far time to think, time to get nervous, time to try and flinch away, spreading his thighs open again and licking a long hot stripe up the underside of his cock. “It’ll fit,” he promises, stroking a hand up himself to keep from going insane. “If you want it to. How about I finger you a little first and you see if you like that?” he suggests, sucking one of his fingers into his mouth, then letting the tip brush over Ja’far’s hole.

 

The little _twist_ low in his belly, eager and aroused, is almost frightening. Just the brush of Sinbad's finger makes him wriggle, unsure and tense, no matter the distracting slide of Sinbad's tongue against him and ah, he's definitely dizzier by the moment. "I… not sure if I want to do that--yet--" Never _mind_ that the idea of Sinbad's cock inside of him, stretching him out too-big and too-thick, makes his toes curl. 

 

Ja'far swallows hard. "You're always going on about my thighs." Yes, this is safer, this is _easier_ , and he's less terrified of the idea of losing control entirely like this, which prompts him to squirm and reach a hand down, tentatively curling his fingers around Sinbad's cock. "Why not… just…" He licks his lips, still nervous, still _damnably_ nervous. "Use them?" 

 

The image as much as the words goes straight to Sinbad’s cock, jumping and twitching in Ja’far’s hand. He nods, not quite trusting his voice, and crawls up, urging Ja’far over onto his stomach with two broad hands on his hips. “Easier like this,” he whispers, and nestles up behind him, cock pressing eager and hard against that sweet, supple ass. He ruts against it for a few moments, breath coming faster and harder as he feels the smooth curve, and an arm curls around Ja’far’s torso, pulling him up hard against Sinbad’s chest. He wriggles down, letting his cock slide in between those squeezable thighs, moving to suck one earlobe into his mouth, tugging gently with his teeth as he slides forward as far as he can go.

 

Ja'far _expects_ Sinbad to like this.

 

He doesn't expect to like it quite as much _himself._

 

It's obscene to feel that big, thick cock sliding between his thighs, muscles trembling with the sticky-slick rub of it against his skin. Ja'far sucks in a ragged breath, his gaze flickering down in spite of himself, and he bites his lip at the _sight_ of Sinbad thrusting up between them, the impulse to wriggle back and squeeze them tighter together impossible to resist when it feels so surprisingly _good_ , and every thrust between them seems to go straight to his own cock, making him twitch and _throb_.

 

He shudders, squirming back against Sinbad's chest, his head lolling at the hot, slick close of Sinbad's mouth around the lobe of his ear. "… Play with it again," is the breathy rasp that he doesn't quite think through as he grabs for Sinbad's hand, shoving his fingers up towards the little ring in his nipple, aching from its previous abuse.

 

Somehow, this is a thousand times more obscene than actually fucking Ja’far.

 

Hearing those breathy words is enough to undo Sinbad completely, and he forgets his cautions, fastening his mouth to the side of his neck and sucking, nibbling as he does as he’s bidden, teasing and pinching and _tugging_ on that ring, hooking a fingertip through it to make Ja’far _whimper_. “You like it when I play with you like this?” he rumbles, hips snapping up harder, imagining so easily what it would be like to shove into that sweet curved ass, just as pleased with the lewd press of soft thighs around his cock. “Just using you for my pleasure like this? Are you hard from feeling me using your body?”

 

Somewhere along the line, Ja'far's mind clicks off. It's a good thing, that, because his cock is so hard he _can't_ think, his nipples _aching_ , his legs trembling and threatening to buckle no matter how he tries so hard to keep his thighs squeezing tight around Sinbad's cock. He can _feel_ every twitch, every jerk of Sinbad's hips, every thud of his pulse that seems to go straight through to his cock, and god if that isn't good. 

 

"Yes--" It's a ragged, broken reply, and Ja'far's eyes flutter, thinking too much on how he's going to have marks all over his neck tomorrow. His head rolls back against Sinbad's shoulder, all the more welcoming for it. " _Yes_ , god--j-just--just use me, I--" 

 

He should be more embarrassed that those _words_ are what do him in, that they're what makes his voice ultimately catch and stutter in his throat as he comes hard, spilling messy and slick with his chest heaving, body trembling so much that he _hurts_.

 

Sinbad _likes_ guessing right.

 

It’s much more difficult with Ja’far--everything _is_ , for some reason, but Sinbad’s never been one to shy away from difficulty, and this is a prime example of why. Ja’far shuddering in his arms, begging brokenly to be used, spilling hot and wet over his own thighs and Sinbad’s cock, is far better than anything else he’s ever worked for. 

 

He stills his movements, curling his arms around Ja’far, nipping gently at his neck. “Should I keep going?” he asks softly. “If you’re finished, I can finish myself off.”

 

Chest still heaving, Ja'far slowly shakes his head, trying in vain to form _words_ for a moment as he wraps his mind around the idea of _that was the best orgasm I've ever had and oh god how do people do this on a daily basis and not die?_ "I… you… keep going," he eventually settles upon with another, potent shiver. 

 

That’s more than enough encouragement for Sinbad. It’s slicker now, more slippery as he slides forward and back, letting out a low sigh through his teeth at the tight squeeze of it, the soft press, and he’s close to _achingly_ hard. Maybe Ja’far won’t blame him if he talks, just a little bit, now that he’s done. “Always wanted to see you like this,” he murmurs, hands tightening on Ja’far’s waist as he picks up a rhythm. “Spread out under me, moaning for me, acting like a whore even when I know you aren’t one, god, I just wanted to spread you open and shove inside you so hard you’d come and scream all at the same time.”

 

 _That's_ not fair either. Ja'far is pretty sure that he's done and _finished_ , and his body shouldn't be riled by that at all. He bites his cheek, stifling a low groan as he wriggles back in spite of himself, and ah, god, his face is _red_ now. "Maybe… next, then--" Shivering, he lets his head drop forward, hair swinging forward to stick to sweat-slick skin. "You can try… and put it in me. Rub it against my hole, I want to feel it--"

 

Only a supreme effort of will keeps Sinbad from coming hard right away at just those _words_. His cock is dripping as he pulls it back, sliding up into the cleft of Ja’far’s ass, the thick blunt head catching on that pretty little hole, dragging slowly over it. “Yeah, there you go,” he growls, hands tightening on Ja’far’s waist so hard they’ll leave bruises in that pretty pale skin. “You’re kind of a tease, you know? Feel that, feel how much I want to be inside you?”

 

Ja'far's mouth falls open, the press of Sinbad's cock enough to promise a thick, _aching_ stretch. There's no stopping the breathy little whine that pulls from his throat, the way he wriggles back just a bit more, and the urge to push himself _down_ onto Sinbad's cock, to feel it pressing into him so hard and thick and big is nearly impossible to resist. "I--" The bob of his throat is too-fast, almost frantic. "God, you feel _good_ ," he whispers.

 

“Tell me you want it inside you.” Sinbad’s voice is a low, hoarse husk, as he rubs slowly up and down, both hands coming up to tease Ja’far’s nipples now. He’s so hard it _hurts_ , but somehow even that only feels good as he rocks, pressing against that pretty hole again, almost, _almost_ inside. “Tell me you want my thick cock in your tiny little hole, and I’ll make it good.”

 

The fingers on his nipples again are too much, making his tongue respond far, _far_ too readily when he can already feel the thick, blunt head of Sinbad's cock pressing against him, so close to stretching him open and--"Want it," Ja'far raggedly gasps, voice thready and desperate. "Just--just put it _in_ \--"

 

 _Oh god Sin, remember that he’s a virgin, be gentle or god help you_ , a voice in Sinbad’s mind reminds him, and he takes a long, shaky breath, reaching a hand down to hook under one knee, hoisting Ja’far’s leg up to expose him that much further. “Lube? I have some in my pants if you don’t.”

 

Ja'far has half the mind to at least be able to grab for the pants in question, shaky fingers grabbing for the little bottle. _Why are you carrying this around_ would normally be on his tongue, but what's the point in _asking_ at a time like this? "Here," he manages, flipping open the top, twisting to grab for one of Sinbad's hands and squeeze out a generous amount. "Just _hurry_." 

 

Sinbad slicks his cock until it’s dripping, then urges Ja’far up onto hands and knees, spreading his thighs wide. “Just like this,” he breathes, “easier like this, open up for me.”

 

He slides up the cleft again, head catching, and this time, his hands tighten on Ja’far’s waist, pulling him slowly, slowly back as he pushes forward, inexorably forward a fraction of an inch at a time until the head pops inside. Sinbad barely remembers the first time he’d taken cock, but he remembers how overwhelming and shocking it had been, and he tries, _tries_ to go slow and be gentle. “You….okay?”

 

If Sinbad looks big, feels big between his _thighs_ \--god, like this, it's _maddening_.

 

Ja'far _sags_ , sinking down into the bed with a shaky, desperate sound torn from his throat. He feels even thicker _inside_ , and god, he already feels uncomfortably stuffed full even if it's just the head of Sin's cock pressing inside of him, filling him and making him pant hard, heavy breaths into the sheets. "F-fine," he rasps, eyes rolling back as he _tries_ to wriggle back a bit on his own accord onto that hard, slick cock, and it's just _too much_. 

 

“ _God_ ,” Sinbad groans, unable to help the slide when he’s so slick and Ja’far’s so _wanting_ , arms wrapping tight around him and holding as close as he can, and Sinbad slides in as slow as he can, eager, needing little thrusts, a bit more every time, a bit harder, a bit _faster_ , and he barely has the presence of mind to snake one hand down to palm Ja’far’s cock as well. “You’re--with me, come on, I want us to--together-- _God_ \--”

 

Over the hard, relentless thudding of his pulse, it's hard to even hear Sin. The touch of his hand is easy enough to focus on, though, especially when he's already hard again, achingly so and oversensitive to the drag of those long, calloused fingers when he's being so thoroughly _fucked_. It hurts, it aches, every thrust of Sinbad's cock deeper inside of him even though Ja'far _knows_ he's still not even taking all of it, and he whines mindlessly, rutting back against it, down into Sinbad's hand, and that's all it takes before he's spilling again with a strangled, gasping mewl, muscles drawn tight and shivery as his vision _flickers_.

 

Sinbad’s been good for long enough, and he can always apologize later.

 

He takes Ja’far’s hips into his hands, yanking them back hard as a feral noise comes from his throat, sliding hard, fast into Ja’far’s ass, eyes squeezing shut as he loses track of everything, loses track of _himself_ , loses track of anything except how _perfect_ Ja’far is as he slams in _far_ too hard, hips slapping against that perfect ass, letting out an almighty groan as he slumps forward, pulsing hot and wet and slick deep inside. The world spins, and for a moment, everything is black.

 

A broken, whimpering sound leaves Ja'far's throat as he sags down into the bed, burying his face into the sheets. _Everything_ aches, his nerves singing and twanging rather prominently out of tune, and ah, god, it _stings_ to feel Sinbad hot and slick inside of him, with every shiver of his body reminding him of it in a dozen pleasant(?) ways.

 

"… Heavy," is his eventual rasp, a nudge and then a shove following when Sinbad doesn't immediately move. That's about the extent of his effort, at any rate.

 

Everything comes into focus slowly. Sort of frightening, just _how_ slowly, and Sinbad flops to the side, landing on his back with his chest still heaving. “You,” he breathlessly accuses, “are far too good at that for someone who was supposed to be a virgin. I haven’t come that hard in years.”

 

Ja'far gives up on being any semblance of coordinated and simply faceplants, a low groan escaping him. "Don't say it like I was lying," he eventually says, voice muffled in the sheets. "I've never… any of that."

 

“Then you’re just a natural.” Sinbad throws an arm carelessly over Ja’far’s back. “I changed my mind. You can’t work on camera. No one else needs to see that.”

 

 _As if I'd ever agree to work on camera, anyway._ "Glad to hear it." _Is it bad etiquette to want a shower really badly and yet not trust your legs at all?_

 

“Last chance,” Sinbad murmurs, “to get out from under me before I fall asleep in your tiny bed.”

 

 _Too embarrassing to bring up the not trusting legs part._ "… I'm not moving." Ja'far is glad, at least, that the room is dark and his face is hidden. "You're warm, besides."

 

Oddly enough, Ja'far sleeps better than he can recall in any recent memory, even squished into his small bed so close to another man's side.

 

Sinbad is _warm_ , though, and that probably has a lot to do with it. Ja'far wakes with his cheek pressed to the man's shoulder, his eyes slowly cracking open beneath the light filtering in through a window's blinds. 

 

A pair of slitted, reptilian eyes stares back, and Ja'far exhales slowly.

 

"… Sin," he lowly murmurs so as to not alarm the man, lest he disturb the rattlesnake that has decided Sinbad's chest is as warm and comfortable as he has. "Do me a favor and don't move." 

 

“Mmm.” Sinbad doesn’t bother opening his eyes, tightening the arm around Ja’far’s shoulders. “You feel good like this too.” He’s been awake for a few minutes now, feeling Ja’far pressed up against him, tracing patterns over his chest, cool fingers heavy and sinuous. “We should do this more often.”

 

Sinbad is an idiot. "… You have a tiger rattlesnake on your chest and she likes you quite a bit, apparently, but I am very serious when I am telling you to not move because I don't feel like rushing you to the hospital and having all of my snakes taken away because she bit you and killed you."

 

Sinbad had already been still, but now he freezes completely, slowly opening one eye, and….

 

Ah.

 

Yes.

 

That certainly is a rather large snake.

 

“Good morning, darling,” he murmurs, blinking at the snake. “How much did I drink last night?”

 

"Enough," Ja'far concedes, and in one, fluid strike, snatches a hand out to grab the snake by the back of the head, gently keeping her mouth shut as he slides her off of Sinbad's chest. "She's gravid, small wonder she likes you. You _are_ something of a furnace," he says, climbing out of bed to put her back into her enclosure. "Also, just so you know, you probably wouldn't have died. I just didn't want her to break a fang off in you."

 

“Glad to know you have your priorities straight,” Sinbad remarks, leaning back on his elbows. “Do you give them little tools to break themselves out? I’m pretty sure one of them got loose the last time I was here, and it definitely wasn’t that one. She’s pretty, though,” he admits. “Not the worst face I’ve woken up to. Come back to bed.”

 

"Honestly, they only do this when they seem to know you're coming," Ja'far sighs, double-checking the cage before sliding back into bed a moment later, only reminded then of how sore he is and grimacing. "Never getting up again," he mutters, flopping back with a groan.

 

“I’d be flattered, but you don’t sound terribly pleased,” Sinbad murmurs, wrapping an arm around Ja’far’s torso and pulling him close anyway. “Are you in much pain? Sorry, I tried to be gentle, I just...lost control a bit.”

 

"Just sore. It isn't awful." Ja'far drops his head against Sinbad's shoulder, eyes lidding. "How do you _do_ that all of the time? I think I would probably die." 

 

“It got a lot easier once I started topping,” Sinbad admits, then remembers something and winces. “Ah. Sorry if you wanted me to use a condom, I swear I’m usually better at remembering things like that.”

 

"… I write the checks for your medical visits. I know you're clean, so I don't care." That being said, he _still_ feels oddly sticky and ah, god. He needs a proper shower here soon or he'll lose his mind. "Careless, though," Ja'far mildly chides. "For your sake, I hope you at least use one with that Kou brat." 

 

“Of course I used a condom with him, who knows who he’s been with?” Not a lie, he’d used a condom with Judal the first time. “But I don’t want to talk about him.” He tightens his arms, nuzzling down into Ja’far’s neck. “I want to be here with you.”

 

"You _are_ here with me." There's something to be said about his bed--it's small enough that it definitely forces him to stay close, whether he likes it or not. A good thing that he likes it, in this circumstance. Ja'far sighs, resting his head down against Sinbad's chest. "You shouldn't plan on this being a regular thing, you know. I hardly have your sex drive."

 

Sinbad nuzzles into Ja’far’s hair, hands tracing little patterns on that soft skin, relaxing back with an indulgent smile. “Once was more than I ever expected to have. And it was better than I expected. I hope you had fun too?”

 

"I would not still be in bed with you if I didn't." Ja'far shivers a bit, eyes lidding as he slowly unfolds an arm to drape it over Sinbad's chest. "It was good." 

 

Somehow--though it seems childish to say so--just those three words are more of a boost to Sinbad’s self-esteem than a career pornstar telling him Sinbad’s the best he’s ever had. Words _mean_ something coming from Ja’far, and words of praise are hardly faint. “Did I hurt you? It’s been a long time since I bedded a virgin.”

 

"You like being able to say that, don't you." A roll of his eyes follows. "Believe it or not, I am not so delicate. I'm just a little sore, nothing a hot shower can't fix." _Also, my legs feel like noodles._

 

“How big is your shower?” The idea of showering with Ja’far is an enticing one, and he runs a hand up the younger man’s spine. “I’ll have to work on some of my techniques, though. You didn’t seem to like my mouth at all.”

 

"Big enough." Good, very good, maybe he'll stop feeling like he needs to itch everywhere if he can actually scrub himself clean. "And it wasn't that I didn't like it. Just… that I didn't exactly expect you to _do_ that." Ja'far starts to carefully wriggle away. "Come on, I need to shower before I go insane."

 

Sinbad laughs at that, allowing Ja’far to escape his arms before dealing that pale curved ass a playful swat, rolling out of the bed to follow much too close on his heels, all grabbing hands and pinching fingers. “Maybe I should test _your_ skills in the shower, then…”

 

Ja'far smacks his hands away with a withering stare as he yanks open the bathroom door. "It's too early, and don't make me remind you that pinching and grabbing is not acceptable 24/7." 

 

“Too early?” Sinbad asks, affronted as he enters behind Ja’far, unable to stop himself from touching no matter the recent warning slaps. “You’ve woken me hours earlier than this for work, I am entirely convinced that groping is more time-appropriate than paperwork.”

 

"I have a young coral snake in the kitchen that I can let out into a dark room with you in it."

 

“Very cruel! And to think, I can count my fingers on the imprints in your hips.” He grabs Ja’far, undeterred, and presses a slew of kisses to his neck. “I don’t care how much you threaten me, I’m enjoying you while I have you.”

 

" _Sin_ \--" The protest turns a little stressed now when Sinbad _does_ make it very clear that nothing he says will deter him, and with the way Ja'far's body seems to want to twitch and stir just from a few kisses to his already bitten-up neck, he has to wonder how much he _should_ be protesting. A heavy swallow, and he gives the other man's chest a little shove. "You're so damnably obnoxious, at least let me turn the hot water on so we can get under it, I'm cold." 

 

“And here you told me I was like a furnace,” Sinbad points out, but he reluctantly pulls back for long enough to let Ja’far play with the water temperature. Damn, but Ja’far really is lovely, shockingly so when out of his clothes, with supple curves like Sinbad has rarely seen on a man and more freckles than he’d ever expected. He steps into the shower, letting water run down his skin as his hands feel the play of it across Ja’far’s, wasting no time in starting to suck and nibble again.

 

"That was when we were in bed," Ja'far lowly points out, eyes lidding and a little, relieved sigh escaping him when the hot water washes over him, rinsing away sweat and stickiness and whatever _else_. That makes him settle a bit, and makes him far more amenable to the idea of Sinbad's hands on him again, and the brush of those big hands over already formed bruises is oddly alluring, leaving him to shiver. "You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

 

“If I thought you disliked it,” Sinbad rumbles, dragging his hands up Ja’far’s torso, avoiding that little ring--for now--and down again, “I would already have stopped. After last night, I’m not sure what your signals are anymore.”

 

 _Neither do I_ , Ja'far thinks a little tiredly. "… You can touch," he settles upon. "But don't expect a repeat of last night so soon. I believe I mentioned something about dying."

 

“Hmm, something of the sort,” Sinbad agrees, but tightens his arms all the same. “In my defense, I didn’t know how good you would look naked. That has to change a man’s opinion about quite a few things.”

 

"It can't be anything you haven't seen before," Ja'far lightly replies, attempting to wriggle his way free and grab the soap. "If you want to touch so badly, wash my back."

 

Sinbad cooperates eagerly, rubbing the soap up and down, lathering with his hands. “So you don’t like sex,” he says, attempting to understand. “But you _did_ like last night. So what’s the difference?”

 

"First of all, it isn't that I don't like sex. I just… have never felt a _need_ for it, not like you." _And apparently a good portion of the world._ Ja'far lids his eyes, allowing himself the indulgence of Sinbad's touch when he isn't _pinching_ him. "And last night… well. It was you, so it was good. I don't think I would want anyone else touching me, I might stab them."

 

“We talked about that,” Sinbad says, a little sternly. “No stabbing anyone who doesn’t stab you first, right? Do you know how much I had to pay to have your record expunged after that last incident?”

 

"Well, so long as they don't _touch me_ \--or you--I see no reason to stab them," Ja'far sniffs. "Maybe everyone should keep _that_ in mind." 

 

“Sounds appropriate,” Sinbad agrees, and brings his hands up, dolloping shampoo on them and starting to run his fingers through Ja’far’s hair. “It’s a totally different color when it’s wet, huh? Like your eyes, everything about you is so...changing.”

 

"You look far too into this," is the low murmur to follow, even as Ja'far sags back a bit, eyes lidded underneath the attention. "I like to think I'm fairly stagnant on the best of days." 

 

“On the surface. You think much of yourself that is only on the surface, Ja’far. It’s one of the most intriguing things about you.” Sinbad carefully massages the shampoo, lathering it into thick, stiff peaks. “Most men consider themselves far more interesting than is true. You’re the opposite, somehow. You must tell me your secret. Wait, let me guess--there isn’t one?”

 

"… I really have no idea what you're talking about," Ja'far bluntly replies, tilting his head back a bit to look up at Sinbad. "As long as none of that is particularly bad, I don't think there's a problem, is there?" 

 

“Only that once again, I fear we are two men speaking different languages,” Sinbad says with a sigh, and nevertheless tilts his head down to meet Ja’far’s lips in a wet, slightly soapy kiss.

 

Well, there are far worse things. 

 

Ja'ar's eyes lid, and he stretches up a bit onto his toes to kiss back, just enough to enjoy before he sinks back onto his heels again. "… I didn't say we could never do this again at all, did I?" 

 

“Not yet,” Sinbad allows, “but I must confess, I’m waiting for you to say something like that every minute. Or at least that it will be another ten years, and I haven’t impressed you at all.”

 

"Since when have you had such little confidence in your skills?" is Ja'far's snort to follow, his cheeks flushing slightly. "If I was… less than impressed, you wouldn't have stayed the night." 

 

“It’s hard to tell, with you.” That’s the truth of the century, but it comes with an even truer, larger one. “But...I want to learn to read your moods as easily as anyone else’s. I want to learn what you like, and when you’re only pretending to hate something, and when you aren’t.” 

 

Sinbad sighs, twisting around to try and wash his own back. “Someday, you’ll understand that I’m not just lying to you to get you into bed.”

 

"Turn around, you bloody idiot," Ja'far mutters, the urge to roll his eyes impossible to suppress. "I don't think you're lying to me about anything. I think I know _you_ a little better than that. Instead it's more… hmm. Me being perplexed that you would rather be here with me, when you have a dozen prettier, _easier_ things to toy with at your discretion." 

 

“Since when have you known me to always take the easiest road?” Sinbad asks, turning obediently to let Ja’far wash him. “You can hardly blame me for not knowing your mind. This is the first that you’ve touched me, really. Not that I mind doing all the work, but...you do put effort into being an enigma.”

 

"… Not really?" He doesn't really try at all, to be honest. Ja'far's eyes lid, and his fingers thread through Sinbad's hair as well, gently working shampoo into it. "The fact of the matter is… I don't quite understand, still, what you find so interesting about me that you _must_ have me in bed, but I suppose that just means I will invite you back again."

 

Sinbad turns, shampoo and all, cupping Ja’far’s chin with one large hand, the other going to his waist to pull him close. “Truly?” he asks, eyes alight no matter the spectacle of his wet, soapy self. “You’ll have me back?”

 

Ja'far slowly blinks up at him through wet bangs. "You are acting as if this is some outstanding thing," he carefully replies. "I enjoyed myself. You are my closest--" _Closer to only._ "--friend. Why wouldn't I have you back?" He allows a sort of anxious laugh. "In truth, I was afraid I would be awful at this and that would be the end of it." 

 

“If you doubt for a second I enjoyed myself thoroughly,” Sinbad says, brushing the hair out of Ja’far’s face with long fingers, “I have become more adept at hiding my thoughts from you than I’d ever expected. Don’t think so low of yourself. That was as good as I’ve ever had.”

 

"… If you say so," is the wry little reply to follow, and Ja'far tilts his head to press a hesitant kiss to Sinbad's palm. "I won't say 'no' if you suggest it again, so…"

 

It means more, when it’s Ja’far.

 

Sinbad doesn’t simply wrap the young man up in his arms, but it’s a close thing. A smile, real and genuine and grateful, is enough, and he turns to let Ja’far wash his back again. “Good. Then we have a date.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Easy in, easy out--that's the idea of this, anyway. Kouha knows he attracts a lot of attention, pink hair and ruffles and stockings and all that, but wolf whistles he can deal with from a bunch of creepy old guys. They think he's a girl, anyway, which is _hilarious_. 

 

It's later, though, with the sun down already, and so this shouldn't be a terribly difficult thing to accomplish. He's picked locks since he was a kid, and Sinbad's studio has a really, shitty old one that takes him about two seconds to crack. Now, just to wave a magnet in all the right places and--

 

Ah.

 

Okay. Things not expected: Sinbad still being there, but sort of… suspended from the ceiling from some really interesting looking rope work. Kouha can't even bring himself to be annoyed about his plans being interrupted by the most irritating person; he's way too amused. "… Someone playing cat's cradle with you, I guess. Huh."

 

This is _not_ the way Sinbad had anticipated spending his afternoon.

 

It had been bad enough, the way Ja’far kept pushing him away even when Sinbad was being _very charming_. Bad enough, that Judal still won’t answer a single message. Bad enough, that his star is being a diva again and pretending like he won’t work unless Sinbad looks the other way on letting an underage kid join up. Bad enough that Ja’far had lost his patience with the _adorable_ passes Sinbad was making at him and had done some freaky fast ropework and _strung him up from the ceiling_ of his own studio, then _left_ him there.

 

That was all bad enough.

 

And now, the youngest kid in the Ren family is standing there bold as brass inside _Sinbad’s studio_ , making fun of him. 

 

Sinbad sighs. “What do you want to get me out of this?”

 

Kouha's eyebrows slowly arch up. "I dunno. You sure this isn't part of some really involved game of yours? You used to be into some freaky stuff, back in the day." 

 

“Your brother owns a studio,” Sinbad says with a growl. “You should know that what an actor does on film isn’t what he’s always _into_. Or does Kouen not tell you much?”

 

A little shrug follows. "He tells me as much as anyone should tell an underage kid," he lightly replies. "Now, shouldn't you be a little sweeter if you want me to get you down?" 

 

Sinbad narrows his eyes. “You want me to talk sweet at you? When you just broke into my studio?”

 

"Maybe I was leaving you a love letter."

 

Sinbad regrets his position. He regrets many decisions. Pretty much he regrets everything. “Fine. What do you want, please and thank you?”

 

Kouha smiles, looking _very_ sweet himself. "I want you to ask me _nicely_."

 

Sinbad supposes that if he ignores the poison smile and the creepy look on his face, Kouha isn’t bad looking. “Please let me down from here.” He tries to look _nice_. “Please.”

 

A little hum leaves his throat, and Kouha starts examining the way the rope is tied and leveraged. "Hmm, that sounds nice. Keep at it. Hey, are you coming out of retirement any time soon?" 

 

“Hadn’t planned on it. Why, is big brother not letting you make videos, and you’re convinced you’re a budding star?” If he can just get _one_ limb free, he can get out of this...

 

Kouha casually yanks on one rope, which just so happens to _tighten them_ , just a little. "Nah. I was just curious if you'd be making any more videos where you're whining like a little bitch. You put Ju to shame."

 

Damn, how prevalent are those videos? He’d been popular in the day, sure, but there haven’t been a huge increase in royalty checks lately or anything. Does Kouen have his own private library? That’s a little disturbing. He grits his teeth at the tightening of the rope--yeah, he’s going to kill Ja’far. “Do I hear an offer in there?”

 

"You're not really my type nowadays." With another, casual tug, the rope loosens and unravels, and Sinbad's knees hit the set's bed. "That's a start, isn't it? You just asked me to let you down, not to untie you." 

 

“It’s a start,” Sinbad agrees, wriggling a little to try and get free--what is Ja’far, a fucking boy scout? Where did he _learn_ knots like these?--with little to no success. “Well. Thanks for the help, I’m sure I can take it from here.” _Somehow_. “And since you were kind enough to help me out, I’ll overlook the fact that you broke into my property.”

 

A yank, and the rope tightens again. Kouha leaves it that way this time, with just enough slack in the one suspending Sinbad as he waltzes back over to the bed and with a firm shove of his foot to the man's chest, easily tips him backwards. If his plans are ruined, then he might as well have a little _fun_. "I'll give you another reason to overlook it." A hand snakes out, thumb deftly unbuckling Sinbad's belt. "So, is it a camera trick that makes your cock look so big?"

 

_Shit, I’m being molested by a child._

 

Hard on the heels of that thought are a few he’s less proud of having. 

 

_He’s as pretty as a girl--might as well get something out of the Ren family for a change--I’m tied up, no one can say I molested him--_

 

Sinbad’s cock twitches under the curious hand, and he can’t quite bring himself to protest. If he’s going to be tied up, he might as well have a little fun with it. “I never use camera tricks. See for yourself.”

 

Oh, wow, Sinbad is _easy_. And, judging by the growing bulge underneath his hand, definitely not lying about the camera tricks thing. Kouha runs a tongue over his lower lip, setting a knee to the bed as he crawls closer, thumb popping open the button of Sinbad's pants and eases the zipper down soon after that, his fingers wriggling their way inside to palm Sinbad's cock. "No kidding," he breathes, pulling it out with a yank of Sinbad's pants down in kind. _Don't compare it to your brother's, people frown on that._ "Guess I see why Judal was so messed up now, I bet you're _fun_." 

 

“I have my moments.” Sinbad sucks in a breath at the rush of air against his cock, straining again with the ropes to no avail. As long as he’s stuck here, he might as well get something out of it. “You have a nice hand. It’s the only thing about you that doesn’t look girly.”

 

Kouha's eyebrows arch at that. "You have a problem with the way I look?" he casually asks, his fingers squeezing and sliding up as he says it, his thumb dragging over the head of Sinbad's cock. "The first time you saw me, you sure as hell checked me out." 

 

It doesn't take much effort to bend low when he drags his lips over the same path his thumb just took, a flick of his tongue following, warm and wet. It _also_ doesn't take much to arch his back a bit as he does it--head down, ass up as he sucks and licks at Sinbad's cock, a quick bob of his head drawing him even further into his mouth. 

 

“I didn’t say I had a _problem_ with girly,” Sinbad says with a groan, bucking up as far as he can (not very) into Kouha’s mouth. The brat is talented, Sinbad will give him that. “You’re too good at that. Is everyone in your family a champion cocksucker, or just you?”

 

Kouha exhales a breathy, pleased sound through his nose as he swallows hard, grabbing at Sinbad's hips to hold him down when the next slide of his lips brings him to swallow nearly all of him. Ah, god, he _is_ big. Looks big, feels bigger down his throat, and it makes his jaw ache even when he pulls back just to have the head between his lips, dripping slick and messy over his tongue. "Just me," he breathes, looking up through his lashes. "You're a way bigger slut though, aren't you? I bet you wanna come." 

 

Sinbad’s eyes lid, the sweet wet heat of Kouha’s mouth more than making up for the indignity of the uncomfortable position, and Kouha’s _not_ bad to look at. He’s pretty, in an unconventional way, and he sucks cock like someone that loves it. “Yeah. Go on, take it all, make me come like a good boy or girl or whatever you want to be.”

 

A low, amused giggle, and Kouha pulls back with a last, lingering swipe of his tongue over the precome beading at the tip of Sinbad's cock. "You're supposed to ask nicely. Test failed." He slides off of the bed without another glance back. "You can stay there, have a nice night!" 

 

Sinbad curses, struggling against the ropes violently. He _hates_ the Ren family, hates them more than _anyone_. “Come the fuck back here, you little slut!” he shouts, struggling hard enough that he nearly topples onto the floor. _I’m going to kill them all._

 

"Really rude! Who would want to suck your cock when you've got a mouth like that?" Kouha calls over his shoulder, the door swiftly shutting behind him after he takes out a security camera or three.

 

Ah, that being said--the ride home is going to be a _difficult_ one.

 

He'll never understand Koumei's fascination with being in class day in and day out. It isn't as if he intends to ever _use_ all of those degrees, anyway; it's just an excuse to avoid working eventually, Kouha thinks, but whatever. What _matters_ is that the man is easily accessible when Kouha wants him, and that's right about _now_. 

 

Running up the mansion stairs is easier said than done when he's still this _twitchy_. "Mei! You _better_ be in your room!" 

 

Koumei perks up at the sound of his brother’s voice, the only _interesting_ thing he’s heard all week. He stands, the edges of a bathrobe hanging loosely over his boxers, and opens the door to arch one eyebrow at Kouha as he runs up the stairs. “Oh boy,” he murmurs to himself, shutting his textbook on early 1600s dialectical differences between Paris and Lyon, “this is going to be good.”

 

The door to Koumei's bedroom promptly slams shut behind him, and Kouha huffs, annoyed as he shucks his coat in one swift yank. "Lie down and get your cock out already, I've had a really stupid night." 

 

“Someone’s in a mood.” Not like Koumei minds, and Kouha always knows how to treat him right, so where’s the harm? As long as the doors are properly shut and locked, which he checks before shucking his boxers, laying down on his back. “You better get me hard first. I’ve been bored until you got here.”

 

"Shut up."

 

It takes a second before Kouha's down to little but his stockings, the thick material of them easily kept bunched up and above his knees. He climbs onto the bed, one stockinged foot sliding up between Koumei's legs as he stands above him, eyes lidded. "I don't _have_ to do any thing. I already dealt with one slut that didn't know how to take orders tonight, I _don't_ \--" And he shifts his weight, just enough to carefully grind his heel in, "--want another one." 

 

Koumei shudders, eyes going dark as his cock hardens under Kouha’s pressing foot. He never gets hard as fast as when Kouha’s over him, telling him what to do, and his hands twist in the sheets as he ruts up helplessly against the too-cruel touch. “Sorry. I’ll do what you say.” Even saying the words makes his mouth so dry it’s difficult to lick his lips.

 

Slowly, Kouha's lips twist into a smile. "That's a good boy," he croons, the grind turning more to a stroke, his foot dragging languidly from root to tip. "Look at you, already so hard for me. You have the best cock, Mei. I want it in me." 

 

Koumei nods, swallowing hard. He wants to be, wants to beg Kouha _step on me, slap my face, tell me what a filthy whore I am for my little brother’s cock_ , but that’s topping from the bottom, and Kouha doesn’t like it. Instead he just presses up against that friction, breath catching. “You want to sit on it? Or do you want me to--”

 

He cuts himself off with a little self-deprecating laugh. “Never mind, of course you want to sit on it.” _Not like you’d ever let me top. Not like I really want to._

 

Kouha laughs, pressing down a bit harder when Koumei lurches up. "What, you actually wanna shove me down and fuck me? That's new." His foot slides away and in one, easy movement, he drops down to straddle Koumei's hips, wriggling down against him with a breathy sigh, a hand immediately reaching back to grab for his brother's cock and guide it to slide up against his ass. "You really are a pervert," he taunts, his eyes lidding. "Wanting to fuck your little brother so bad, you're already this hard." 

 

“I only get hard like this for you.” Koumei’s eyes lid, and he arches up, feeling the teasing heat of Kouha above him, already imagining how good it would feel to be buried inside it. “I guess I really am a pervert, huh? God, your cock looks so nice,” he mutters, voice gone husky, eyes dark. He can almost taste it, mouth watering now at the thought.

 

"Maybe," Kouha murmurs, dragging his fingers over his own cock, biting his lip as that touch alone nearly does him in.  It's all to make his fingers slick from his own precome, and he drags his thumb over Koumei's lips, rubbing it slowly against them. "I should make a new rule for this week. No one else is allowed to fuck you. Then you'll be all twitchy and squirmy by the time I show up, hmm?" His hand draws away again, just enough to slap across Koumei's cheek. "Grab the lube, whore, I know you've got some close. You probably jerk off thinking about me." 

 

Koumei is shivering now, trembling from the words and the taste and the slap most of all, even as the threat makes him mentally shudder. No one fucking him at all? Now _that’s_ cruel, when sometimes it’s all he can do to make it through the week until Kouha’s visits even _with_ his extra little playtimes. “Course I jerk off thinking about you,” he murmurs, reaching for the lube without looking, grabbing it from the shelf by memory. “Four times thinking about your last visit, and how you let the candle drip all over me and gave me rug burn.”

 

Dammit. He is _really_ not going to last at this rate.

 

Normally, Kouha considers this a study in practicing self-control, _loving_ how he can string his brother along and make him squirm with just a few well-placed cracks of his hand or a few well-said words. But god dammit, he's riled up, he's _aching_ , and Koumei is pushing all of his buttons and he can't snatch that bottle away fast enough. 

 

"Good," he manages to gasp out when his slick fingers drag over Koumei's cock, dripping and messy. "Just want you to think about me. No one treats you right--ahh--like I do--" His fingers are still slick when they spread open his own hole, and his eyes roll back when he lifts himself just enough, just to press down on that hard cock and god, the head pressing inside and stretching him open is enough to make his chest heave. A groan, and Kouha shoves himself the rest of the way down, mouth falling open at the deep, _thick_ stretch of him, the aching twinge that ripples straight up his spine. 

 

“I do think about you,” Koumei breathes, bucking up into the slick sweet heat of Kouha’s body, biting his lip at the _squeeze_ of his little brother’s ass, something he so rarely gets to feel. “Mmm, even when you’re riding me and just using my dick to think about someone else’s.”

 

Dark eyes flick up to meet Kouha’s, and damn it, if Kouha’s not going to give him what he needs, he’ll get some of his own back. “Whose dick are you thinking about riding, little brother? Is it Kouen again?”

 

"God, will you shut _up?_ " Kouha groans, and he lurches forward, shoving a hand over Koumei's mouth while his other hand scratches up his chest, nails long enough to leave nicely deep, red scratches in his wake. A hard shiver rakes up through him, and he wriggles down, sighing at that deep, slick press of Koumei's cock up inside of him. "I'll fucking strangle you if you say another word--ugh, fuck, who am I kidding, that turns you on," he breathlessly laughs, fingers dragging up to pull and pinch cruelly at one nipple. " _Whore._ " 

 

Koumei shudders hard, bucking up into Kouha’s ass with a strangled noise, his body on fire now with every cruel touch, begging for more with every arch and thrust of his hips off the bed, pushing his chest up into every punishing touch as much as he can. This, _this_ is what he loves, Kouha holding him down and abusing him, that pretty doll’s face above him saying nasty words that Koumei believes about himself, every bit. _Yes, I’m yours, fuck me hard, hold me down and slap my face, strangle me with your hand or your cock, whatever you want, whatever you want, just hurt me--_

 

A strangled, ragged mewl leaves Kouha's own throat, and he eagerly grinds back down, chest heaving as he rides and wriggles on top of his brother's cock. "Good-- _good_ , fuck your brother's ass, you slut," he pants out, thumb dragging over Koumei's lips once more before he pries his mouth open, stuffing a pair of fingers into his mouth to twist them against his tongue. "Put that cock of yours to use, you're only good at being my _toy_." 

 

Koumei sucks greedily on Kouha’s fingers, easy enough to imagine his cock, or even better that it’s this way, that he’s not _good_ enough for Kouha’s cock, that he’s only good enough to suck on his fingers and take whatever Kouha wants like a _good_ pet--

 

He’s going to come, but he _can’t_ , Kouha is a fucking bitch when he comes and doesn’t mean to, and not in the good way. Koumei squeezes his eyes shut, a tear leaking out as he tries hard, sucking in air through his nose as he makes those fingers sloppy and wet.

 

" _Look_ at you, you're so fucking sloppy, just like one of En's whores." Kouha's hand yanks away, backhanding Koumei as the next, aching slide of his own body down that hard cock makes him hiss and shudder, his back arching. "You wanna make your little brother just as messy, Mei?" Kouha pants out, shoving a hand down to grab for his own cock, a rough stroke enough to make his eyes roll back into his head. "Fuck--god, go on, come, fill me up, maybe I'll c-come on your face if you're good enough--"

 

That permission is all it takes, and Koumei cries out as he comes, hips snapping up hard against Kouha’s ass, all the torture of not _having him_ for the last several days finally relieved in one long, messy series of spurts. “Messy,” he pants, face flushed and licking his lips at the thought of Kouha coming on his face, eyes trained on that pretty flushed cock. “Please, Kouha, you’re so good to me, no one knows how to treat me right like you do, you know what I need--”

 

 _God_ , that's good, feeling Koumei spasm and twitch and lurch up inside of him, pressing deeper still and making his eyes flutter as his breath catches hard. He almost, _almost_ loses himself just with that, but it's a last, desperate effort that makes him heave himself up and off of Koumei's cock with a whine, fingers squeezing tight around his cock as he slides up to kneel just over Koumei's face. "Damn right I know--what you need--open your mouth, slut," Kouha pants out, his eyes squeezing shut as a last jerk of his hand is all it takes before he's spilling over his brother's face, his other hand scrabbling forward to grab at headboard for support as his vision _blurs_ with each hard, aching spurt over Koumei's face.

 

Koumei strains to catch what he can, but there’s something just as disgustingly good about having Kouha come all over his face as there is about swallowing it down, and Koumei’s cock twitches painfully even now so soon after coming. He shudders, licking his lips, but doesn’t move to wipe the rest onto his tongue, not yet, just in case Kouha wants to take a minute to look at him debauched and pathetic like this. “Did you enjoy using me?” he asks, low and obedient.

 

Kouha's vision slowly returns to him, and he manages a shaky, hazy little nod, grinning as he slowly sinks back to sit on Koumei's chest. "Yeah," he breathes, and he thumbs one flushed cheek, smearing his come over his brother's freckles. "You're always such a _good_ toy, Mei. I'll keep you." 

 

Koumei nudges his face into the touch, liking the debauched way it feels to have Kouha rub his seed all over his skin, relaxing back onto the pillows of his bed. “Thank you.”

 

His mouth twitches into a small semblance of a smile, and he remarks dryly, “Ten years ago I wouldn’t have thought Dad cheating on Mom would be the best thing to ever happen to this family.”

 

Kouha laughs outright at that. "Please. Maybe the best thing to happen to your dick." He rolls to the side with a graceless thump, sprawling out with a content little shudder. "Ahh, that was good. Sorry that I got caught up for a minute, hope I made up for it in the end. You came pretty hard." 

 

“You’re fine,” Koumei says with a wave of his hand, then sets his hand down on Kouha’s head, stroking his hair. He wipes at his face with the sleeve of his bathrobe before it gets painfully sticky, then stretches out. “Who got you so worked up, anyway? Usually you’d just fuck them up and then come to me.”

 

Now sated, it's easy for him to butt his head up against Koumei's hand like an affectionate cat. "That stupid Sinbad guy," he grumbles, eyes lidded. "I went over to his studio to fuck with his videos and stuff, and he was still there and strung up for some reason and ahh, I might have sucked his cock a little bit. I guess I kinda see what Judal likes about him."

 

Koumei’s eyebrows raise. “Kouen doesn’t want you messing around with him,” he warns. “He doesn’t want anyone to talk to him. Can’t you fuck with his videos with your tech shit from farther away? And…”

 

He hesitates, then lowers his voice and asks, “Is it really as big as it looks?”

 

" _Really_ big," Kouha insists, rubbing his head up against Koumei's hand again. "It's _really_ nice. And you know, I _tried_ to get into his system the other night, but he's got some serious defensive stuff on there. Manually wiping it in person is the only way to go, and if I can't get in there… mmn, I'll rig something up, one way or another." 

 

“Just send Judal,” Koumei suggests, petting Kouha’s head with gentle strokes of his hand. “You said Sinbad’s got a sad little crush on him, right? Should be easy. I’m surprised Kouen hasn’t already done it.”

 

"En's being all weird and possessive, I think he's still mad about how Judal set him back the other week. Though if it fucks things up faster… yeah, I'll throw that suggestion out to him," Kouha sighs. "Hey. You like the way I dress, right? That asshat kept making comments about it, made me want to bite his dick off." 

 

“I’ll bite him for you. You look fucking hot.” Koumei’s eyes lid as he walks a hand down, plucking at the top of one thigh-high sock. “Remember how I jumped you the second you came home from end of term?”

 

Ahh, Koumei always knows just what to say. "Yeah," Kouha happily purrs, nuzzling his face into his brother's neck. "Good, so long as you like it. Next time I'm home, I'll wear something special for you underneath my uniform. It'll be a surprise, you'll like it." 

 

“Mmm, you’re too good to me,” Koumei says with a shiver, and knows it’s true.

 

~~

 

Ja'far isn't gone _that_ long.

 

A couple of hours at the absolute most, and it's time spent relatively nearby, for that matter. Honestly, Sinbad deserves this. He told the man nothing shy of a dozen times to back off--just because they have sex _once_ doesn't mean he wants it again so soon and damn it all, Sinbad needs to learn to keep his hands off of him in the workplace. 

 

Ja'far doesn't _quite_ expect the sight that greets him upon returning, however. 

 

"… Did one of your girlfriends drop by?" It's getting dark out, and it's not a farfetched idea, considering the _state_ of things. 

 

Sinbad doesn’t like having time to think. 

 

He’s had far too much practice with it in the past, far too long shut up with only himself and his thoughts and the memories of an awful day for company, and he doesn’t like the way his thoughts race, never has. It feels like the old days, and he’s cold besides, the ropes digging in painfully in ways they hadn’t when it had been Ja’far who’d tied him up, before that little bitch had fiddled with the ropes, and it’s been nearly half an hour since he’s been able to feel his left arm, aside from it growing steadily colder. The fact that it’s humiliating to be hanging trussed up like a turkey with his cock out is nothing compared to knowing how _helpless_ he’s been, how one of the people who wants to destroy him had had him completely at his mercy, and the person he’d counted on most of all had _let it happen_. No, more than that, he’d been the _reason_ it had happened.

 

“One of the Ren brothers,” he says, voice as cold as it’s ever been with Ja’far. “Down. _Now_.”

 

Oh.

 

Ja'far shuts his mouth, papers and coffee set down in an instant, and it takes only a few swift pulls to unravel the bindings. "You're not injured, are you?" _Stupid, really stupid._

 

Sinbad tries to flex his left arm, but it doesn’t respond right away, until he manually slaps it into shape with his other hand, getting a bit of stinging, prickling feeling back in the oddly off-white limb. “Just my pride. He broke in and thought he’d have a little _fun_.” A second to take stock of the state of his arm, and in all honesty, it would look stupider to try and do up his fly one-handed than to walk around like this.

 

Ja'far grabs for the arm reflexively, thumbs kneading and pressing into numb, tingling nerves immediately. "I'm sorry." Yes, that was definitely one of the less intelligent things he's ever done. What sort of bodyguard is he, exactly? "I shouldn't have left you. Or tied you up at all." 

 

Sinbad pulls his arm free, turning away. “I have to see what else he tampered with.” He pauses, still facing away, and says quietly, “I won’t bother you with my advances again. That should please you.”

 

"That's not--"

 

He could stand a slap to the face, probably, for how his hands shake a little when Sinbad pulls his arm away. No, Ja'far thinks he deserves worse than that. He had left Sinbad all alone, tied up and helpless, and if something _worse_ had happened, it would have been all his fault. _This is bad enough, to be honest_.

 

"I'm sorry." That doesn't _quite_ cover it. "I… do you want me to go?" _Or come into work at all again_. 

 

“Don’t bother, I’m leaving.” Sinbad manages to slap some feeling back into the arm eventually, and fastens his pants only a little clumsily before yanking on his coat. “You can stay if you want. Trust me, you’ll be as alone as you want.”

 

"… All right."

 

Better not to argue, when Sinbad clearly doesn't want him to. He's been disobedient enough for one day, hasn't he? He really should have just let Sinbad do whatever, then this wouldn't have happened. Numbly, Ja'far grabs for his paperwork again. "I'll… lock up everything, then." 

 

He’s leaving. He’d decided that, while he was struggling futilely against his bonds and trying not to think that anyone _else_ could come in, that he’d never been so _helpless_ , that he was just going to walk out and not say a word.

 

He stops anyway, hand on the doorknob. “What bothers me most,” he says, despite knowing that really, he shouldn’t say anything, “is that I read you so wrong. That you took me so seriously you felt the need to do that. I must have frightened you terribly. I’m sorry.”

 

"You shouldn't apologize."

 

That's probably the fifth time Ja'far has attempted to straighten out the mess of file folders now. "I should have just let you. There's no excuse for it, I'm supposed to protect you and instead I carelessly left you here for this to happen. I… I was being stupid and selfish and it won't happen again." 

 

“No,” Sinbad says quietly, “it won’t.” 

 

_Because I thought you wanted me, and you were just indulging me. That’s fine. I was foolish to assume that just because I bullied you into it and you humored me that you would feel something else for me. It won’t happen again._

 

“Good night, Ja’far.”

 

"… Good night." There's not much _good_ about it, honestly. 

 

~~

 

If his anxiety is good for anything, it's keeping his apartment clean.

 

He's probably scrubbed it down about six times now. The windows are open no matter the chill--something he remedies when he comes to his senses and watches the heat gradients in a dozen cages fluctuate too wildly--and he's left with the astringent smell of cleaning chemicals and cardboard. 

 

Organizing. Right. That's what Ja'far tells himself. Not like he has a lot of belongings, anyway, barely enough to fill half a dozen boxes, but having it all _sorted_ in the event that he does pick up and leave is a good idea. 

 

This isn’t intruding, Sinbad tells himself. It’s just an employer checking on the welfare of an employee, nothing to be concerned about, nothing to worry that Ja’far will hate him over. It’s only that Ja’far has been acting odder than usual, and there are all those mental health evaluations Ja’far’s been bothering him-- _reminding him_ , he reminds himself--about completing, and he’d forgotten, and now is as good a time as any.

 

Right?

 

 _You’re just going to make things worse, you damned fool,_ Sinbad’s mind hisses, but he’s hardly gotten _better_ at listening to it over the years. He knocks, trying to make sure he looks every inch the concerned employer, because Ja’far wants him to keep his distance, and the old woman next door is peering through her apartment shades at him. Distance, right. Sinbad can do that. 

 

Maybe.

 

No one ever comes and knocks on his door except the postman and _Sinbad_.

 

Ja'far briefly considers hiding in a box. It would be easier, at least. Eventually, he realizes that would make things even worse, and slowly, reluctantly, he moves to the door, cracking it open to peer up at the other man. 

 

Sinbad attempts to look professional. It’s easy, when he’s talking to other businessmen, inside and outside the industry, when he’s talking to...well, almost anyone, except Ja’far. It’s always been impossible to fool Ja’far.

 

That’s probably why this stings so much. 

 

He tries for a smile, but it comes out more uncertain than he intends. “I, ah, wanted to check on that gravid rattlesnake of yours. Thought she might need a heating pack again.”

 

Ja'far stares up at him, perplexed. "… She's fine," he slowly says, stepping away from the door to let it swing open a little bit more, an invitation if Sinbad wants to take it. "Did you really come out all this way for that?" 

 

“Ah, no. That was meant to be a joke.” Sinbad cautiously steps in, adding in what he hopes is a more confident tone, “We’ve got mental health examinations coming up at the studio, and I thought I’d...take the...initiative in…”

 

He trails off, noticing the boxes and almost feeling the blood drain from his face, looking from them to Ja’far and back, then shutting the door behind him and reaching for Ja’far’s hand. “Look, I’m _sorry_ , I won’t do it again, I’ll _never_ do it again, I was wrong to yell at you, _please_ don’t go!”

 

It takes a moment before it _clicks_ what Sinbad is going on about, and Ja'far blinks, tugging his hand away with a shake of his head. "I'm not--I wasn't _planning_ on going anywhere. Just--it makes me feel better, having things packed if I _need_ to." He probably sounds like a crazy person. Well, all things considered… "I… look, I don't understand what you're apologizing for."

 

“For--”

 

Sinbad falters, remembering in the nick of time that women don’t like hearing _I’m sorry for whatever made you mad at me_ , and figuring Ja’far probably won’t like it much either. “For touching you when you didn’t want me to, I’d been drinking that day. And for yelling at you when you came and cut me down, you didn’t know that crazy bitch was going to break in. For not coming after you sooner. For...everything?”

 

The furrow in his brow deepens. "… You just _annoyed me_ , that's all. You're always drinking, besides. _I'm_ the sorry one, I shouldn't have tied you up and left you like that. Even if I didn't know that kid was going to show up, I should have anticipated something like it and I…" Ja'far catches himself, exhaling a slow breath, attempting to steady his voice. "Basically, I'm horrible at my job."

 

“Your _job_ ,” Sinbad points out wryly, “is to do the books. Your _hobby_ is playing my bodyguard. Unless you’ve forgotten, I don’t actually pay you for that, because you won’t let me.”

 

"A good thing, considering what happened." 

 

Sinbad waves a hand. “An obnoxious teenager gave me half a blowjob, I’ve had worse days.”

 

Ja'far sucks in a breath. "You said you wouldn't try and touch me again, though."

 

On reflex, Sinbad looks down to check his hands, and backs up a step worriedly. “I’m not! I didn’t, did I? Sometimes they wander, I didn’t _mean_ to…”

 

Now he's just confused. Is he missing something? He's not _that_ maladjusted, is he? _No, don't answer that, brain._ "That's not what I meant. I mean--I don't _want_ you to do that. To stop touching me, I mean." And now his face is red. "I was just annoyed before because you wouldn't stop when I told you to. I'm not… I don't want you to do it _all_ the time." 

 

Sinbad sighs, running a hand back through the hair around his face. “You don’t have to say that just because you feel sorry for me, or because you think I’m angry at you. I get it, you were humoring me, but you don’t have to. It’s fine, if you don’t want to do it again.  You know how I feel, but it’s fine.”

 

"… But I'm not. And I wasn't." He's getting a headache. "And I… don't? Not really, at any rate." Ja'far sighs, lifting a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose. "Why does this have to be so complicated? I just told you, it's _fine_ , I was just annoyed _then_ when you were touching me. I get it, I'm not like most people that like you pawing at them all day and night."

 

“But you always tell me I’m annoying when I touch you,” Sinbad points out, “and then that time, you let me make love to you. Even then, you told me I was annoying. It’s hard to tell when you’re being serious, you always have the same face.” He blinks. “And what do you mean you don’t? I’ve been obvious about how I feel, haven’t I?”

 

"You've been obvious that you want to sleep with me." Definitely a headache. "And I think if I'm glaring at you and telling you 'no' and threatening to cut your hands off, that should be a _hint_." 

 

Sinbad holds up his hands. “Fine, fine. I just…” He sighs, looks around for a chair to flop down on, and sits gingerly on a box marked [BOOKS AA-MY]. “You could take a little initiative, then. If I could tell when _would_ be a good time, it might be easier to avoid you when you’re a hairsbreadth away from leaving me naked and vulnerable for my enemies to find.”

 

"… Would threatening to cut your cock off be a better initiative?" 

 

Sinbad raises a single eyebrow. “I did offer to stop trying. Several times. There’s no need to go to those extremes, I’m...for god’s sake, I’m not going to rape you, it was just a pinch.”

 

"15 of them, I counted. And a hand on my thigh. Kneading. Touching my hair. For several days. I--does it not _occur_ to you how frustrating that can be?" 

 

Personally, to Sinbad it sounds flattering. His smile is more of a grimace, as he hesitantly tries, “No?”

 

Ja'far exhales a long, weary sigh. "Well, it is. It's _very_ frustrating. It has nothing even to do with _you_ , it's--look, do you even know how little I masturbate?" he finally, irritably replies, no matter how _stupid_ this conversation is becoming. "Every few months, _maybe_. That is about the extent of my sex drive, so when you keep _poking_ at me, I want to bite your hands off." 

 

“So...you _don’t_ want me to stop touching you,” Sinbad reasons aloud, no matter how his mind shrieks that Ja’far isn’t quite human, “you just want me to do it once every several years?”

 

The urge to slam his head into the wall is overwhelming. " _Touching me_ is one thing. _Initiating sex_ is something else. And you don't even have to _stop_ doing the latter, just--not every five minutes, and especially not at _work_." 

 

“Sometimes I just can’t help it when I look at you.”

 

"You and your horrible impulse control," Ja'far mutters, raking a hand back through his bangs. "Sit on your damned hands, then."

 

“Fine, fine. If I do, and I stop touching you--ah, except on the occasions, however frequent or infrequent and impossible to determine they may be--will you unpack and stay?” Sinbad asks hopefully, starting to reach out to take Ja’far’s hand, then changing direction mid-course and sitting firmly on that hand instead.

 

"… I wasn't going to _leave_. I told you, I just--" An exasperated sound, and Ja'far steps forward, reaching out to grab hold of Sinbad's hand before he can sit on it this time. "Do you have any idea how much I want to slap you sometimes?" 

 

“So slap me.” Sinbad curls his hand around Ja’far’s, squeezing gently. “I’m a big man, and I’ve been slapped many times by people less pretty. I’d certainly prefer it to being strung up from the ceiling alone for hours. Seriously, if I bother you, slap me. I don’t mind.”

 

"You'll probably like it," is the low, weary accusation. 

 

Sinbad laughs. “What do you care if I do, so long as it gets the point across? You have to have some way, and I’m not going to stop feeling the way I do.”

 

"… I don't get it," Ja'far slowly says. "I'm boring, not particularly attractive, and _nothing_ like what you are usually interested in. You would enjoy yourself much more, even, with that kid from Kou Studios."

 

Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, an odd look on his face as he tilts his head. “You aren’t going to make me say it, are you?”

 

Ja'far's brow furrows. "Say what?" 

 

Sinbad sighs. He tugs Ja’far to sit down on another box, squeezing that hand, and says, a little amused, “You’re going to hate this.” 

 

He leans forward, kissing the back of that hand, and looks up into Ja’far’s eyes. “Do you really not know I love you?”

 

The confusion is there for another, lingering moment. "But I knew that. I love you, too, you're my closest--" 

 

Pause. "Oh." _Not as a friend._ That is definitely not what Sinbad is talking about. Another pause, and Ja'far eventually manages, "I'm fairly awful at this."

 

Sinbad shrugs. “That’s fine. I don’t mind. But you know, now, and that’s important to me.” A little awkwardly, he releases Ja’far’s hand. “Do you...are you...is it all right? God, you don’t need to feel the same way or anything, I just wanted you to know since you can’t seem to figure out what I like about you.”

 

"I'd die for you." It's blunt and a dozen times more awkward and probably the worst way to say it, but whatever. Ja'far sucks in a slow, calming breath. "That's right along the same line, isn't it?" 

 

Sinbad can’t help the way his chest tightens at that. He nods, and reaches slowly for Ja’far’s hand again. “Yeah. It’s close.”

 

"Good." Ah, he's really bad at this. Holding Sinbad's hand he can do, though. "I'm sorry again for stringing you up from the ceiling." 

 

“I didn’t mind that so much. I deserved it, and I’d have apologized to _you_ , if that damn Ren kid hadn’t showed up,” Sinbad admits. “I just wish you’d stuck around.”

 

"… Did you ever figure out what he wanted in the first place?" It's probably better to get off of more awkward topics and move to something _productive_.

 

“Judging by which brother it was and the way he broke in, something with computers,” Sinbad says, grateful for the change in subjects. “He’s supposed to be quite good with them. I looked him up after he showed up at my apartment, really obnoxious kid.”

 

"I will make sure everything is appropriately protected, then, just in case." Ja'far heaves a long sigh. "They probably won't leave you alone lest you leave that favorite of theirs alone."

 

“But I _have_! I mean, yes, I’ve tried calling him,” Sinbad admits, “and I tried to go see him a few times, at the studio and at his apartment, but as you said, that’s not prohibited in his contract! And I haven’t even done _that_ lately. I’ve been too busy thinking about your freckles.”

 

"You--wait, what?" Ja'far fixes a bland stare upon him. "What about them? They're just _there_." 

 

Sinbad reaches out a hand, brushing his thumb over a freckled cheek. Ja’far can always slap him, after all. “They’re intriguing. I always want to...I don’t know, count them. Find patterns in them. Suck them off your skin.”

 

At that, Ja'far feels his skin flush. "That sounds… time-consuming and also impossible?"

 

“But I like the impossible. The impossible is fun to try.” Even now, Sinbad can’t stop his eyes from tracking over the little spots, certain that his thumb _should_ be feeling something, some bump or roughness, but encountering nothing but smooth skin.

 

"But--" Ja'far shuts his mouth for a moment, liking, in spite of himself, the way Sinbad's thumb feels brushing over his cheek. His eyes lid, head tipping forward, just slightly. "I guess--if that's what  you like…"

 

Sinbad cups Ja’far’s cheek, smiling at even the way Ja’far leans into his touch, something he’d thought he wouldn’t feel again. “If you teach me what _you_ like, this needn’t be all about my pleasure.”

 

"… But I liked everything last time." Ja'far blinks up at him through his bangs. "I just don't like it when you touch me in public, a lot of times."

 

“I will _try_ to be better.” That’s pretty much as good as he can manage, and even though just now he’d promise much more, he knows his own weaknesses when it comes to Ja’far, all too well. “Are you worried someone will find out? It doesn’t _matter_ , you know.”

 

Ja'far shakes his head. "It isn't that. I don't care. It's more… I don't want other people to _watch_. Why should they be privy to something like that? I'm not inviting _them_ into my bedroom."

 

Sinbad decides that means Ja’far is being possessive, because that’s adorable. “Very well. If I keep my hands off of you in public, does that mean I get to do it more in private?”

 

"Well," Ja'far says, head tilting, "I will be less likely to be annoyed with you, so the likelihood of me letting you touch me in private is higher." 

 

“Ah, is that how it works? No wonder it took me ten years.” He starts to tug Ja’far down to his lap, but stops, then stands, leaning down to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. Doubtless you want some time to re-organize your things without me getting in your way?”

 

Ja'far's mouth twists into a slow smile. "You aren't in the way," he says. "But if you behave a little longer, I will take you out to dinner."

 

Sinbad promptly sits on his hands. “You may be onto something with this incentive business,” he admits. “I can feel myself becoming better behaved already.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Everything_ is a shaky, shaky blur. 

 

It's a mercy when Hakuei comes home, interrupting the full, day-long torment that Gyokuen has decided is just _so_ enjoyable. Kouen does nothing to stop it (in fact, he had _walked out_ , leaving Judal with the witch he calls a step-mother), and Koumei and Kouha's protests are minimal if not nonexistent. With Kougyoku off at school, Judal has _never_ felt quite so trapped, quite so stupidly, pathetically alone, but there's no use in _saying that_ , not when this family--this fucked up goddamn family--are the only people to ever particularly care for him, and now, the only ones content to feed this particular problem. 

 

It feels like a bad case of the flu at _best_. God, but he's grateful for the distraction of Hakuei, allowing him that much of a chance to sneak out, insisting through his unhappy little shivers that their driver take him to Sinbad's apartment _right now_ and yes, he remembers the address--sort of. Mostly. Even if he's only been there once before, over a month ago.

 

His memory is good enough to find himself to the man's door eventually, and no matter the heated halls, nothing quite makes him stop feeling too-cold or too-hot all at once, wrapped up tightly in his coat. Flopping against the door is an acceptable form of knocking, isn't it? 

 

Sinbad stands up slowly from the table, eyeing the door. The threats have been coming fast and thick lately, legal ones and illegal ones, and he’s _mostly_ been content to let that reassure him that he’s making headway. 

 

But if they’ve started coming to his apartment….

 

That doesn’t exactly sound like a knock, but it doesn’t exactly sound like a threat, either. Sinbad wavers, but leaves his handgun in the safe, walking slowly to the door and opening it.

 

Instantly, he’s glad he had. “Judal?” he asks, ignoring all rules of propriety and reaching immediately for the kid, laying a hand on his forehead. “Jesus, kid, you’re burning up, come in. How long were you out in the cold?”

 

Judal blinks up at him with too-wide eyes, flinching at the touch before deciding that leaning into it is _better_. "Not too long," he murmurs, sniffling as he butts his head against Sinbad's hand. "Ah, you don't feel like a furnace this time. That's weird. Can I… lay down or something?" 

 

“Sure, of course you can.” Sinbad wraps an arm around him, casting a suspicious glance down the hallway before urging him inside. “Chills too, or just fever? Are you achy, upset stomach anything like that? I’ve got medicine for almost anything you could think of in the bathroom, just in case. Here, up you go.” He hefts Judal easily onto the bed, removing the coat and replacing it with a large soft blanket.

 

"Everything hurts," Judal unhelpfully supplies, shivering hard even as he curls himself up into the blanket, knees pull to his chest rather than actually lying down. His skin _prickles_ , and ah, getting off of his feet almost makes the urge to throw up a dozen times worse. _Not in Sinbad's bed, anywhere but here_. "Hate her," he bemoans disjointedly, huddling into a tiny ball. 

 

“Her?” Sinbad runs a hand down Judal’s hair, ignoring the fact that it comes away sweaty. Mentally he runs through a checklist of everything Judal probably has, and curses inwardly at Kouen. “Hey, kid, let me see your arm.”

 

Judal makes an unhappy, grumbling sound, far more like a complaining cat than a teenaged boy, and flops to the side, avoiding Sinbad as he curls up. "Jus' leave me here to diiiie." 

 

“You’re not going to die.” Sinbad hands him a glass of water from the bedside table, laying a hand on one flushed cheek. “How long?”

 

"Long?" It doesn't quite click for a moment, not when Sinbad's hand feels sort of nice against his skin--at least, for a bit, until that feels too-hot and Judal shivers, wriggling away. "Don't remember. A day? Hate her so much, and En wouldn't do _anything_." He eyeballs the glass of water as if it's going to eat him. "Last time I drank things, I threw up." 

 

“You’re detoxing. You’re going to throw up a lot.” Sinbad eyeballs the kid, sitting back against the headboard and folding his arms across his chest. “What do you want to do? You’ve got options. You can stay here if you want, or I can get you into a clinic. I know some really good ones.”

 

Now that _really_ doesn't click. "… You're mad at me," is the eventual, sort of confused conclusion, and suddenly, the fact Hakuei came home is a really awful thing. Gyokuen had been so _close_ to finally giving it to him--he'd been good for her all day, done everything she'd asked, and he _deserved_ that reward. "But I was really good, can't I just--just have _something?_ En keeps it everywhere, there's no _way_ you don't have anything--"

 

Sinbad leans down, gives him a kiss on the cheek. Not his fault, young and pretty and falling into Kouen’s clutches at this age. _And not your job to fix, Sin,_ says Ja’far’s voice of reason in his head. “Not mad at you,” he reassures Judal. “I just thought you came here because you wanted to get off it. I have some stuff I can give you, if that’s what you want.”

 

"I hate her and I _missed you_ ," Judal fairly whines, ignoring the lurch of his stomach when he tries to roll closer, ending up more tangled in his blanket when he grabs at Sinbad. "If you want me to do something for it, I will--just-- _please_ \--"

 

“You don’t have to do anything.” Sinbad sets Judal firmly onto his back, straightening out the blankets. “We’ll talk when you get your head on straight, okay? I’ve got some pills you can take first, that should fix you right up.” 

 

It hasn’t been too long since he’d been in a similar situation, one of his actors confessing in tears and begging him not to call the cops, and he has enough connections that even through that horrible month he hadn’t needed to resupply. It’s a matter of a minute to grab the methadone from the bathroom, counting a couple small white pills into Judal’s hand. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

 

It's not quite the satisfaction of a needle sinking into his arm, but it's good enough. Judal eagerly swallows them dry no matter how his stomach churns and twists, and he flops back again, shivering, huddling into the blanket until slowly, they start to take effect. 

 

The throbbing of his head is the first to subside, the ache in his muscles a much more distant thing by the minute, and he could nearly sob from the relief of it, thinks maybe he _does_ when he starts being able to calculate how many hours it's been since Gyokuen last let him have anything. "Sorry," he hazily mumbles. "Really sorry. I'll do something for you anyway. It's been awhile, didn't you miss me?"

 

“Of course I missed you,” Sinbad grumbles, sagging on to the bed, tugging Judal close against his chest. “You know I did, I must have called you twenty times. Your boss took out a restraining order on me, and you’re asking if I missed you?”

 

"You stopped calling," Judal complains, huffing out a hot, slow breath as his vision stops swimming and things start being pleasantly, contently fuzzy. He flops forward, nudging his face into Sinbad's neck. "Kouen's… he's dumb. Really dumb. Why didn't you just kidnap me?" 

 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.” Sinbad strokes through Judal’s hair, unbinding the tie--it’s been let go, messed up in all his thrashing--and combs his fingers slowly down. “You picked up a few times and told me you couldn’t go out with me again. I came by the studio and Kouen called the cops, then sent one of his little brothers to fuck up my computers.” He shrugs. “If you wanted to see me, you could have let me know.”

 

"I _tried_ to." Judal exhales slowly, eyes lidding with the slide of Sinbad's fingers through his hair. "I tried to sneak out one night. That's when En--ah… not really En… company directors, weirdos that manage the finances, whatever… they got really mad, told him about it, then he got mad at me. Said I was making him look bad. Did you know I was actually a little freaked out by needles before then?" he dreamily adds. "Don't care anymore."

 

“How long?” Sinbad asks again. “Since you started using? You know it’ll get harder to get off the longer you’re on it, and you have to quit sometime.” He tries to keep the _disapproving dad_ out of his voice, keeping to a concerned, gentle tone, but ah, it’s hard to see Judal like this, imagine him in a couple years with sunken eyes and sagging skin, teeth falling out and scratching at imaginary itches, blowing guys in an alley for a hit. “You can always come to me, though. For help or a place to hide or even more of those pills.”

 

"… Week after we went out? So… not a month yet…" Judal groans, butting his face into Sinbad's chest. "Just keep me, don't wanna go back. Gyokuen's a bitch, she hides everything, won't give me a hit until I do things for her." 

 

“What kind of things?” Sinbad keeps his touch gentle, stroking a thumb over Judal’s forehead, his cheekbones before threading his fingers back in Judal’s hair. “I’ve seen her around, looks good for her age, but wow, she gives me the creeps.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to Judal’s forehead. “If you’re serious, you can stay here forever. I won’t let anyone hurt you, not ever.”

 

"Lots of things." Judal shivers, his eyes shutting entirely, lulled by Sinbad's touch a dozen times over with the drug coursing through his veins. "She likes watching me. Likes watching En do things to me… I think she mostly just wants me to crawl around and look pathetic, she gets off on it." He heaves a long, weary sigh, eyes cracking open again. "You don't _really_ wanna keep me. It's okay, no one does."

 

Sinbad’s face twists at the explanation, but more important than that is sitting up, hauling Judal onto his lap to hold him more firmly. “You’re wrong. I’d love to keep you. Treat you right, keep you safe, get you cleaned up and on your own two feet--hell, I told you last time that you can live with me if you want.”

 

"Baad idea," Judal sighs, his head lolling back as his weight sags backwards into Sinbad's hands. "I'm a pain in the ass. You'll get sick of me." 

 

“Mm, and here’s me thinking I’ll probably be the pain in _your_ ass,” Sinbad teases, and leans down to tug on the shell of one ear with his teeth. “Seriously. I’m not leading you on or anything. I like you, a lot.” Ah, Ja’far’s going to kill him.

 

"… But it doesn't hurt when we do it," Judal says with a tilt of his head, not quite processing the joke. "Ah, but--if I leave, they'll get really mad. They might do stuff to you. They were already thinking about it." 

 

“Thinking about it?” Sinbad snorts. “Kid, they’ve done more than that already. Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself. If you want to stay here, don’t let that get in your way.”

 

Judal blinks at him slowly. "You're kind of dumb. Am I really that pretty?"

 

“You are very pretty,” Sinbad admits, hand stroking through his hair again. “And I like you a lot. And even more, I don’t like anyone telling me what to do or trying to threaten me.”

 

"… If I leave, Gyoku's gonna be upset." Judal flops forward again, chin dropping atop Sinbad's shoulder. "And Mei and Ha are nice, they're just weird. And En's nice, too, he just has a temper… I don't wanna make everyone mad, they did a lot of nice things for me before…"

 

“Shh. You don’t have to think about it right now. Thinking too much is the enemy of bad decisions, you can quote me on that.” Sinbad finds himself rocking slightly, looking down at the relaxed little bundle of limbs and hair in his arms. “You need to sleep? Or eat? Doesn’t look like you’ve done much of either recently.”

 

His stomach rumbles, but there's really no trusting that. "Sleep," Judal mumbles in agreement, sighing into Sinbad's neck as his hands lift to loosely cling to him. "You feel good. Really warm." 

 

Sinbad gives up on the idea of getting anything done today without a fight, tugging the blanket over them as he snuggles down underneath it with Judal. “All right, then. Talk later. Sleep now.”

 

Judal looks even younger when he sleeps. He almost looks young enough that Sinbad checks for his ID, but doesn’t bother. That’ll be fake anyway. He _definitely_ looks young enough that Sinbad thinks Kouen is a fucking lecher, and the thought of that is so disconcerting he slips out of bed some time before sunrise, tucking the blankets over Judal as he goes through his morning routine. 

 

Phone calls made and exercise done, he hits the kitchen, hesitating before making Judal anything, remembering a few addicts he’s known that have preferred to sleep off that next high for days at a time. 

 

Then again, what the hell? He can always make more.

 

Chocolate chip pancakes and a plate of fruit in hands, Sinbad makes his way back into the room, after triple-checking the locks on every door and window. If Judal wants to be safe, well, that’s what he’ll get.

 

Even if he's sleeping the sleep of the dead, the smell of _food_ is enough to rouse him in short order. His stomach feels a dozen times less like it's about to implode at any rate, and so Judal cracks his eyes open, making a lazy, grabbing motion with one hand. "Foods," he mumbles in approval. "You gonna feed me breakfast in bed?"

 

Sinbad grins, cutting the pancakes into little squares, impaling a few along with a fat dark blueberry. “Say aahhh and I might.”

 

It isn’t often that he gets to take care of someone like this. Not really husband material, not really boyfriend material, certainly not father material (no matter what a couple paternity tests claim), most of the people he chooses to associate with are strong, self-sufficient, and capable, and Sinbad likes it that way. 

 

Still, there’s something oddly comforting about being able to make someone pancakes in bed.

 

If being an addict lets him laze around in Sinbad's bed and be handfed really good breakfasts, Judal supposes it's not _all_ bad.

 

He heaves himself up onto his elbows with a content little noise, obediently opening his mouth. "Aahhh--mmnn, hey, never say you're a bad cook," he happily mumbles around his mouthful. "I could get used to this." 

 

“I never _do_ say I’m a bad cook. I’m a great cook. This is just the tip of the iceberg.” Judal is kind of unfairly cute, lazing around and making content little purring noises. All the more reason to get the kid off the smack soon, so mornings like this could get closer to being the norm instead of the exception. Sure, Ja’far had been against him seeing the kid again, but Ja’far hadn’t known they were _drugging_ him against his will, or at least without really giving him a choice in the matter. “Wait until I make you waffles with caramelized peaches and bananas on top.”

 

Judal tries not to _drool_ at the thought. "Ugggh, you're not _fair_. More, I'm starving," he bemoans, wriggling upright to grab for Sinbad's wrist and urge the fork to his mouth again. "Those pills you gave me… coming down from them isn't so bad," he muses, head tilting. "I wonder if that's why Kouen does it that way."

 

Sinbad laughs, stabbing a few more squares of pancake, feeding them to Judal. “I’ll feed you all you want, don’t worry. And what I gave you was called methadone, have you heard of it?”

 

"Familiar," Judal says after a moment's thought, taking the time to chew and swallow properly. "Think there was a girl hooked on it or something, I dunno. _Really_ hate the way it feels, coming down from this shit." 

 

“Yeah, it’s not fun coming down from _anything_ ,” Sinbad says, from some experience he doesn’t particularly regret. It’s been an eventful life, that’s for sure. “This is what they give people who want a safer and easier way to get that same rush. It’s what they give out at clinics.”

 

"Mmnn. Definitely what Kouen likes, then. They always make me use needles, though," Judal sighs, flopping back after swallowing another mouthful of pancakes. He rubs absently at his arm, annoyed. "Hurts." 

 

Sinbad had been ready for this, and now he reaches for a small medical kit by the bed, drenching a cotton ball with antiseptic. “Give me your arm, I’ll make sure you’re not infected or anything. They’re giving you the cheap stuff and keeping the pricey good stuff for themselves.”

 

Judal hesitates, but eventually rolls up his sleeve, offering Sinbad his arm. "I didn't want to start doing this, you know," he murmurs, eyes lidding. "I've seen what people look like after they use this stuff for a long time. I like being pretty, not like _that_." 

 

“Fortunately for you,” Sinbad says, a big grin on his face as he tends to the puncture wounds of differing ages--at least administered correctly, that’s a mercy-- “you haven’t been on it long, so withdrawal shouldn’t be bad. If you want to stay here, I’ll give you pills when you need something, and we’ll get through the rest together, all right?” He puts a band-aid on Judal’s elbow, then leans down and kisses it. “I like you pretty too.”

 

The little eager flutter in his stomach _shouldn't_ be so strong when Sinbad says things like that. It's just another compliment, after all--ahh, but it's in the way he says it. Definitely in the way he says it, and the way he tries to kiss his damned track marks better. Judal bites his lip, looking aside. "They're a pain in the ass already. Not sure I want to deal with them when they're _mad_." 

 

“You don’t have to. You’re an adult, the most they can do for breach of contract is fine you, and I have some damned good lawyers.” He leans down, cupping Judal’s cheek in one large hand, kissing the tip of his nose. “If you want to stay, stay. Let me deal with the Rens.”

 

Judal's lower lip slowly juts in a pout. "You're saying all this, but I bet you've got a dozen other boyfriends--girlfriends--whatever. Am I really _that_ pretty?" 

 

“Told you. It’s not about how pretty you are. I like _you_.” Sinbad stabs a few more pancakes, dipping them liberally in syrup. “You think I’m that kind of a liar? Don’t answer that, just say ahh.”

 

"… But you don't even know me. Aside from how I fuck. Sort of." Judal heaves a sigh, but decides not to complain in lieu of food, and promptly opens his mouth again. "Ahhh."

 

“I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” Sinbad says with a smile, and takes his own bite of pancakes--he’s earned them on the treadmill after all. “So tell me. What do you like to do for fun, huh? Before you got involved in this whole crazy world, I mean.”

 

"… Skip school?" Judal supplies with a sheepish grin, flopping over with a weary sigh. "I dunno. I didn't have much fun. Foster parents didn't give a shit when I actually had them, so I ran off to the beach whenever I could."

 

Sinbad sighs, stretching out and wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders. “Not an easy row to hoe, foster system around here. Better than it was in my day, I think.”

 

"Yeah, try being Afghani in the fucking US on top of that," Judal grumbles, sagging into Sinbad's hold and nuzzling his face into his shoulder. "I'm not so dark-skinned, so I'm passable. But geez, when I was younger, and tanned a lot more… _no one_ wants to take that kid home." 

 

“Wow, that sucks.” Now that he’s looking, Judal certainly does have a bit of that exotic appeal, and he strokes a finger down a tanned cheek. “Surprised you didn’t do what I did, just take off.”

 

"Foster family means free food and internet," he sighs out, eyes lidding as he peers up at Sinbad. "Also, you're smart. You started your own company, I couldn't do that." 

 

“Not at first. Starting a company means money, I didn’t just pull it out of thin air, you know.” Sinbad tilts his head. “Or did you read my autobiography?”

 

"Your videos are better than any autobiography." Judal lifts his head, cocking it. "Okay, seriously, you were a porn star and now you own  your own porn studio--and you wrote a _book_ about it?" 

 

“Absolutely. It’s a great read, if I do say so myself!” Sinbad reaches up, plucking a book from the shelf by the bed. “Here, if you’re ever interested. But yeah, the videos tell a lot of the story, I think.”

 

"Ehh, pass. You can just tell me, I'd rather hear it from your mouth, anyway. I'm sure it's a lot more interesting that way."

 

Sinbad tosses the book to the side, wrapping his arms around Judal’s waist and tugging him closer. “Anything you want. What do you want to know?”

 

"… Why'd you take off in the first place?" Judal flops against Sinbad, peering up at him. "You're really smart. You didn't have to do things like this." 

 

Sinbad shrugs. “Five nights in the foster system was enough for me. The idea of spending another four years there didn’t really appeal to me, so I hit the road. Wound up….oh, a bunch of places. Hitchhiked, did odd jobs, anything I felt like for money. Got into plenty of dodgy scraps before I met this guy--nice guy, wealthy Arab type--and he got me started in all of this.”

 

"Ahh… I wish I had met the Rens earlier, then I wouldn't have had to dealt with so many idiots--or you. I'd really wish I had met you." Judal absently starts chewing on Sinbad's shoulder. "You're a lot more fun."

 

Sinbad’s eyes lid as he strokes a hand through Judal’s hair, throwing a leg over his hips. “Yeah, I’d have taken good care of you. I just….Rashid--that was his name--he taught me stuff, you know? Like, porn doesn’t have to be this awful sleazy thing. We can make it just as profitable as any business, and have fun, and take care of our employees, and make it so people like the videos because they can tell the actors are getting off, not just being plastic puppets for their….” 

 

He trails off, shaking his head. “Sorry. I get a little preachy.”

 

"No, it's fine." Judal headbutts his face into Sinbad's neck, nibbling there as well. "I'd like making videos with you a lot more, I think. It's always really boring, over at Kou. I mean, I get off, but… I can get _off_ on just about anything. Except when I'm high. _That_ sucks."

 

“Makes me wonder why he wanted to get you started on it in the first place,” Sinbad muses. “You know it always shows up on camera, right? When you’re high? Your eyes get all glassy and your hands don’t move quite as accurately--anyone who’s looking properly can see it.”

 

"I don't knoooow, he was really mad one night and fucked me and shoved a needle in my arm and god, I threw up for hours," Judal mutters, burrowing his way into Sinbad's chest. "And it makes me not even want to fuck and that's the worst part because I really, really like sex." 

 

“Well, you never have to do it again,” Sinbad says firmly. “Not to mention you have nice arms. It’d be a shame if you had to start hiding them on camera. Damn shame, because I’ve got an image of you in a bellydancing costume I don’t really want to get rid of yet.” He pauses. “That’s not culturally insensitive, is it?”

 

Judal can't help but laugh. "Man, my parents are dead. I don't even _remember_ Afghanistan, you can literally make slurs and I probably wouldn't even get it. You can put me in a bellydancing costume all you want, I'll work it." 

 

Sinbad laughs with him. “I don’t like getting nagged for being insensitive. If you’ve ever had to go to sensitivity training for sexual harassment, you’d understand.” He pauses, running a hand down Judal’s belly. “Ever considered piercing?”

 

"Kouen didn't like the idea, so I didn't. 'Whore rings', my ass… I work in porn, give me a break." Judal pauses, arching an eyebrow at him. "Sexual harassment, huh? Someone doesn't wanna be harassed by you?" 

 

“Secretary,” Sinbad mutters. “And when I worked for Balbadd Studios, apparently I got a little _handsy_ with some of the camera operators and studio personnel. Also, if you want to come work for me, you can pierce whatever you want. I don’t think there’s a thing you could do that will make you unsellable.”

 

"You can get handsy with me any time. Your secretary needs to take the stick out of his ass," Judal sniffs, absently pawing at Sinbad's chest. "I really wanna stay. You're sure you won't get sick of me?" 

 

“I’m sure. I don’t get sick of people. And you’re _adorable_.” Sinbad nuzzles into his hair. “You don’t even have to work, if you don’t want to, but I’d love to make you my headliner. You don’t mind dealing with a bitchy prima donna getting demoted, do you?”

 

Judal lightly shrugs. "Not really. They can suck it. I'll work, it'd be kind of dumb if I just lazed around and mooched… though your bed _is_ really comfy."

 

“If you’re going to work, you’ll have to take schedules and orders from Ja’far,” Sinbad warns. “You two should learn to get along, he’s really efficient and fantastic at his job, and once you get to know him, he’s one of the best people you’ll ever meet.”

 

"I've never _done_ anything to him, why does he hate me?" Judal grumbles, gnawing a little harder on Sinbad's shoulder in frustration. "He's all freckly and weird, needs to take a chill pill." 

 

“He’s protective of me.” Sinbad shrugs, shivering a little at the teeth in his shoulder. “Doesn’t like Kou, not after what….ah, never mind. If you’re going to chew, we’re going to fuck, you know.”

 

"Protective and makes you take sexual harassment sensitivity training. Right." The younger man hums, moving his teeth to the crook of Sinbad's neck instead. "Gee, I'm _definitely_ not doing this with the idea of fucking in mind." 

 

Sinbad grabs Judal around the waist, hauling the kid up on top of him. “Wiggle around on my cock, I like it when you do that.”

 

Yeah, this is a _lot_ better than sitting at Gyokuen's feet while she dangles a syringe in front o his face. He's still got a _little_ bit of a high from those pills, even if he's coming down, and it's not so much a desperate need this time as it is a sort of niggling want. Easy enough to ignore right now when another, far more pleasant addiction is shoved in front of his face. "You sure that's all you want?" Judal sighs out, throwing a leg over Sinbad's hips and shivering as he does as he's told all the same, grinding his hips down in a lazy little circle. "I can already feel how hard you are."

 

“Definitely not all I want,” Sinbad says with a grin, “but it’s a start.” He is hard, _achingly_ hard at feeling Judal wriggling on him, and grabs him by the waist, grinding up against him. “I want,” he says slowly, hands moving down to squeeze that tight firm ass, “to see your face when I fuck you. And don’t think I forgot about my promise to tie you to the bed and fuck you with different things all day.”

 

Judal sucks in a sharp, eager breath at that thought, his own cock immediately hard and aching against the front of his jeans. Ahhh, why didn't he strip in his sleep? Clothes are never useful. "I bet you've got one hell of a collection, too," he breathes, biting his lip as his hips jerk down, grinding hard and needy against Sinbad. "Am I too tight, you think, to fit you and something else inside at the same time?" 

 

“Depends what I stuff inside you,” Sinbad breathes, dragging a hand down Judal’s stomach to press down over the bulge of his cock. “You _really_ like that idea, huh? Should have known you were a little size queen.” 

 

Yeah, this isn’t going to last, not when he already feels like he’s going to punch a hole in that denim with his cock. “Ride my cock,” he suggests, “and let me fill you up raw, and then I’ll see what else I’ve got in my toy box. You didn’t share needles with anyone, right? Even Kouen?”

 

He's _never_ been so fast as to wriggle away and out of his jeans, with his shirt yanked off in short order as well. "No way," Judal shudders, pawing his way around Sinbad for the lube he knows the man keeps under a pillow. "They still wanna keep me clean, I guess. That'd really suck, otherwise." His fingers paw at Sinbad's jeans, opening his fly and carefully tugging them down, just enough to free his cock. It's probably obscene how his mouth waters, and Judal has to remind himself not to just slide down and suck him off first and foremost. 

 

"God, you're big," Judal mumbles, hand slick, dripping with the lube as it drags up the length of Sinbad's cock. "Kinda forgot just how big." 

 

The urge to shove Judal’s head down on his cock is a strong one, especially seeing the way the kid licks his lips like he’s seen a treat, and Sinbad grits his teeth with the effort. He yanks Judal’s pants the rest of the way off, hauling him back up, and slicks his fingers up to slide them around the back. “You like being fingered?” he asks, rubbing a couple at the edge of Judal’s hole. “Or do you just want me to shove you down and make you take my cock all at once?”

 

Sinbad's really, _really_ good at making him feel weak, and Judal just groans, nodding a helpless answer as he squirms his way deeper into Sinbad's lap. "Like both," he sighs, clinging to Sinbad's shoulder as he wriggles his hips, biting his lip at the slide of Sinbad's cock back against the cleft of his ass. "But really want you in me--just--shove me down and use me, I can take it--"

 

“I know you can _take_ it, I want to make you feel _good_ ,” Sinbad murmurs, but it’s enough of a cue, and he flips them over, pinning Judal down on his back and urging his legs apart, rubbing the head of his cock up and down, teasing his hole. Judal is _hot_ , and he can feel the slick, pressing heat of him, sliding forward until the head of his cock pushes in, slowly breaching that tight hole as he holds Judal down, letting it sink into him inch by inch. “You like that, baby?” he breathes. “Feels good?” It sure as hell does to _him_.

 

"Fuck," Judal groans out, his eyes rolling back as his hands dig into the sheets, his legs trembling as they try to splay wider still with every inch of Sinbad's cock that spreads him open. _Good_ is an understatement. It's a tight fit, was before and is now, but it's so slick and hot that Judal doesn't care. It just makes him whine, makes him want to wriggle down all the more eagerly, and his hands lift to claw at Sinbad's back, clinging to him as his chest heaves. " _Really_ good, Daddy," he moans, toes curling as he tries to arch his back and shove himself down all the more. "N-no one's cock feels as good as yours--"

 

“Not so fast, baby, I want you to feel _all_ of it,” Sinbad groans, sliding in a little more with every tiny, shallow thrust, knowing full well how Judal must be _aching_ with it by now. “Just like that, spread your legs, you look like such a pretty girl for Daddy.” He reaches down, one hand gripping a thigh tightly, the other curling around Judal’s cock, stroking slowly from base to tip as he shoves in a little farther with the next shallow thrust--then all of a sudden, slides all the way in, bottoming out with a grunt. “There we go, good girl.”

 

Judal's mouth falls open, a helpless, broken keening noise pulled from his throat. "So _big_ ," he whines, chest heaving from the effort as he lifts his head, trying to look down and _see_ how deep Sinbad is inside of him, how his thick cock stretches him wide and leaves him trembling around him. "G…god… here, press here," he pants out, grabbing for one of those big hands, scrambling to push himself up onto his elbows and guide it to his lower back, no matter the _twinge_ that comes from that movement alone. "You're so big inside your little girl, Daddy, can't you feel it like this? Especially… ahh.. when you… shove in really hard..." 

 

Sinbad groans low in his throat, slamming in _deep_ with the next few thrusts, and _christ_ , Judal’s right, he can _feel_ his cock shoving in so far and so thick. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and grabs Judal’s thighs, yanking them up hard, almost bending him in half as he sinks in. “Watch,” he commands, and drags a thumb around the hot, slick clench of Judal around his cock. “Look how--god, you look so _fucked open_ , I can’t believe you’re taking all that. Is my baby girl a slut?” he murmurs, squeezing Judal’s cock in his hand. “Maybe she needs to be taken in hand.”

 

Judal swallows hard, unable to look away from the clenching of his own body, the way he twitches around Sinbad's cock and tries so desperately to take even more of him in, no matter how the man shoves in _deep_ each time, until their bodies connect with a slick, obscene slap. "Y-your slut, I'm your slut, Daddy," he pants out, eyes rolling back at the _squeeze_ of Sinbad's fingers around his cock, his brow furrowing from the effort as his hips twitch up, body hungrily trembling around that big cock stuffing him _full_. "Ah, _fuck_ \--f-fuck, just want you to _use me_ \--"

 

Sinbad’s eyes darken, and he urges Judal’s hips even closer, yanking the kid down onto every thrust, leaning down to bite and suck at Judal’s neck as he rolls his hips, slapping against Judal with every hard, fast, thrust. “Good girl,” he purrs, with an affectionate sharp nip to his neck. “Good girl, taking all of her Daddy’s cock like the slut she is. You want me to fill you up? Come inside you?” His voice is ragged and urgent, movements following suit, and he slams in deep enough that he knows it’ll make Judal _whine_.

 

Whine like a bitch in heat, more like--and Judal doesn't _care_. There's no point in caring what he sounds like when it feels so good, and he pants out a ragged, desperate breath, nodding and agreeing to things he can't exactly hear over the pounding of his own pulse as he arches his back and tries to slither himself down onto Sinbad's slick cock all the more, every muscle bunching tight. "Please, please, please--" It's a mindless mantra, and Judal's breath hiccups hard. "Please, come inside me, I've been a good girl for you, Daddy, so _please_ \--"

 

If there’s one thing that shoves Sinbad over the edge, it’s _begging_. 

 

His spine arches into a tight, tense bow as he loses himself, biting down hard on Judal’s skin as he shoves deep inside, vision whiting out as he loses himself, spilling hot and slick with a few last, urgent pumps of his hips. He braces himself up on one arm, panting hard as he strokes Judal’s cock fast, keeping his cock moving long enough to bring the boy off. “Come on, baby, come for Daddy, come with my cock and my come inside your ass like a good girl…”

 

Judal's lost even before Sinbad can finish whispering all those things in his ear, lost the second the man comes inside of him, slick and hot and messy, and he sobs when he spills over Sinbad's hand, jerking up with a broken, breathless noise. He twitches, shivering with every lingering slide of Sinbad's fingers against him, everything white-hot and oversensitive, and his head lolls back with a groan, his vision blurring around the edges. "God," he groans, blinking away sweat that wants to trickle into his eyes. "N-never come so hard unless it's with you."

 

Sinbad pulls out slowly with a hiss through his teeth, trying to be gentle as he rearranges Judal’s limbs into some semblance of order. “You make me….god, I haven’t been that athletic in years.” He presses a sloppy kiss to the side of Judal’s face, more or less aiming for his mouth. “Jesus, kid. If you stick around I’m going to get a hell of a lot more exercise than usual, just keeping us both happy.”

 

With an entirely too happy sound, Judal flops down, splaying out bonelessly. "But you're already all muscle-ly," he points out contently, eyes lidded. "More exercise is only good, yeah? Though I can just ride you sometimes, then not so much work for you."

 

“I’ll live,” Sinbad assures him with a grin. “If I’m already muscley and I’m getting more exercise, that just means we get to eat and drink more!”

 

"I like food a lot," Judal eagerly agrees, pawing at Sinbad's chest to pet said muscles in question. "And being horny makes me really hungry. Do you keep snacks around your set? I promise I don't get fat, I just like food." 

 

“Of course I keep snacks around the set. And I’m not worried about you getting fat, you like being pretty too much.” Sinbad turns his head to nip at one finger, sucking it into his mouth. “If there’s any kind of snack you really like, I’ll stock up on it, here and on the set.”

 

"… You'll think it's weird," Judal wryly replies, his finger lazily curling against Sinbad's tongue. "Really like peaches, though. And anything peach-flavored. But just peaches are good." 

 

Sinbad smiles around Judal’s finger, giving it a long, slow suck before letting it fall out. “You’ve been hearing a different definition of _weird_ than I know. Weird snacks to me is like peanut butter and squid sandwiches.”

 

Judal wrinkles his nose. "I like them both separately, does that count? Sometimes I eat peanut butter out of a jar… or, well, usually only when Gyoku did, but that's beside the point." 

 

Sinbad laughs, stroking a hand down Judal’s arm. “You’re fine. I wouldn’t even care if you wanted to eat weird stuff all day long, as long as you’re happy.”

 

"… You're really way too nice," Judal murmurs, flopping his head back with a shiver. "Hey, is it okay if I have another pill or something? Before I start feeling sick again. I hate throwing up."

 

“Yeah, sure. Drink your water first, and I’ll give you one more, and then you can sleep it off, okay?” Sinbad rolls out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom for the pills. “And don’t sneak more when I’m not looking, I know what I’m doing.”

 

"I'm not gonna sneak 'em, don't really even want 'em," Judal grumbles, rolling over onto his stomach as he makes a grab for the glass of water on the nightstand. "Being high sucks a lot." 

 

“This stuff is better than everything they gave you,” Sinbad assures him. “Less crash, less high, but it takes care of the shakes and vomiting. And it’s a lot easier to quit, too. Just don’t stay on them too long.”

 

"If you say so," he sighs, downing back the water with a few long gulps. "I just don't wanna puke anymore. And have lots of sex and actually get off. Especially with you, I missed you." 

 

“You got off with me today, right? Even with the pills?” Sinbad nuzzles into Judal’s shoulder. “Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

 

"'course I did, kind of hard to fake something that good," Judal answers with a grin, butting his head back against Sinbad's. "I'm gonna keep _you_." 


	6. Chapter 6

Cassim doesn’t like change.

 

Not _this_ kind, where his big film is derailed so he can make a new one where his name isn’t even top billing, not after everything he’s done for this company--

 

But Ja’far had been….convincing.

 

That’s one of the things Sinbad finds most charming, the way Ja’far gets all scary and intense whenever someone insults him. It’s precious, flattering, and a little inconvenient most of the time. Right now, at least, it’s working in his favor. “All right,” he calls, nodding to the director. A second later, a camera starts rolling, and a fake doorbell rings. Lights go on, and Judal walks onto the set, in a frilly little number and high heels, with the stick of a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. _Classic_.

 

Judal doesn't know _quite_ what to expect when it comes to working with Cassim--he's definitely heard that name before, and not just in flipping through Sindria Studios' videos--but this isn't exactly it.

 

It's not the scenario. It's not the porno at all, actually, even though it takes all his practice and experience to keep a straight face when he opens the 'door' and Cassim is there, dressed as a pizza boy. He's done a dozen times more ridiculous things, and this is kinda cute, besides. 

 

No, it's just… Cassim's kind of a sleaze ball, never mind how hot he is (or could be…). It's the dreads, Judal decides, eyeballing them. Yeah. Not a fan. "Oh! I must've left your tip inside. Why don't you bring that in here and I'll… nope, sorry, can't do it," Judal wheezes, turning away with a choked back laugh. _God_. This is just bad. "You know, an _actual_ restaurant would make you put those _things_ up in a hairnet." 

 

“Cut!”

 

Sinbad is on the set in an instant, even before the director gives him a panicked glance and Ja’far gives him the _I told you so_. “Judal, baby, what are you doing?” he asks, trying to stay _nice_ when his main star looks as if he’s about to punch a hole through concrete.

 

“You got a fucking problem with my hair?” Cassim snarls, ripping off the pizza hat and throwing it to the ground. “You got something against my _people_?”

 

"I'm sooorrry, I swear I'm not normally this much of a prima donna, it's just--" Judal gestures helplessly, trying not to teeter back onto his heels and fall right the fuck over. "Dude, it has nothing to do with your _people_ , it's your fucking _hair._ Am I supposed to let that _touch me?_ Groooosss."

 

Ja'far sets his face to his clipboard.

 

Sinbad wraps an arm around Judal’s shoulders, trying to steer him away, but Cassim is there before he can even try, getting into Judal’s face with a glare. “You think I don’t fucking _wash_? Is that some kind of racist--”

 

“No one said anything about that, Cassim,” Sinbad says soothingly. “Go sit down, I’m going to have a little talk with Judal.”

 

“And what the fuck kind of a name is that?” Cassim demands, ignoring Sinbad’s calming hand. “ _Judal_? What are you then, some kinda fucking terrori--”

 

Sinbad leaves Judal be for a moment, clapping a hand over Cassim’s mouth. “Take a walk,” he says, voice low, eyes flashing.

 

"You're _kidding,_ right?" Judal _can't_ bite his tongue after that and he turns right back around, stepping closer with a sharp clip of his heels. "You _really_ wanna keep pulling the race card? Come _on_ , I've fucked a dozen black guys and loved it. I'm _bitching_ because dreads are gross, there are _studies_ on that, you know. And hey, I dunno what you've got going on between your legs, but if there's dreads there, too--" 

 

All right, Sinbad is done playing nice. “Enough!” His voice is loud enough that most of the talk on the set falls into a hush, and he spreads his glare evenly between the two stars. “No more name calling. No more slurs. You two have ninety seconds to each apologize and get your asses back on that set, or the only movie I’m going to put out this week is home video of me fucking a bowl of tapioca pudding. Got it?”

 

Judal pauses, contemplating. "… but I'd watch that--"

 

"Oh, for god's sake," Ja'far groans off set, turning on his heel with an exasperated shake of his head. 

 

"This doesn't even make sense anyway, you know. I'm supposed to be a babysitter, right? _What happened to the kids_ , did he cook them up in the pizza or--"

 

“Oh, so now I’m a fucking cannibal? Just because I’m _black_?”

 

“ _JUDAL_.” Sinbad has to take a moment, then a deep, calming breath. “Come upstairs with me, I need a cigarette. You,” he growls to Cassim, “go ask Ja’far about your last report sheet, you forgot to sign something.” It’s a lie, but Ja’far’s pretty much the only one who can keep Cassim in line when he’s having a tantrum.

 

"More like because anyone with dreads like that wouldn't be allowed to work at a _real_ pizza joint," Judal mutters underneath his breath, but turns after Sinbad with a huff and a flounce as they walk out of the room. "Soooorrry, it's just kinda gross, it's making me all--" Judal shivers, wiggling his fingers. "Woogly. Also, he gives me the creeps in general."

 

“He’s an asshole,” Sinbad allows, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket on the way up to the roof, lighting it once they’re outside, “but he’s a hard worker and he looks great on camera. It wasn’t _easy_ convincing him to share billing with you. I did have other stars before I got my hands on you, I can’t just turn my back on them now. And come on, are you _really_ looking for authenticity in a skin flick?”

 

"No, I'm just being a bitch," Judal sighs, leaning back against the railing. "Just… hmm. I dunno, I can't stop thinking that I heard someone talk about him before. Not just in porn, I mean."

 

“Not that weird a name. But let me know if you remember, will you?” Not paranoid isn’t the same as stupid. Sinbad takes another drag on his cigarette, flicking ash over the edge of the building. “Ja’far should have him calmed down by now. You gonna be able to do this, or should I cancel?” He reaches out a hand, tugging on a pigtail. “I’ll still keep you either way. Don’t be afraid of that.”

 

Judal contemplates. "… If I say 'yes', do I still get to see that home video of you fucking some pudding?" 

 

Sinbad laughs, crushing out his cigarette after a last long drag. “If you say yes, I’ll videotape me covered in pudding, your choice of flavors.”

 

"Something fruity," Judal immediately agrees, teetering upright again. "Hey, when do _we_ get to make a vid? Ima get my belly pierced soon, it'll be good."

 

Sinbad thinks for a minute, grabbing Judal and twirling him around before leading him back downstairs. “Next week? I’ll set it up in the studio, properly come out of retirement and everything. Just for you.”

 

"Ahh, really good! Are we gonna do the belly dancer thing and everything?" Judal eagerly asks, all but bouncing after Sinbad. Now, the sooner he tolerates Cassim and gets this over with, the better. 

 

“Absolutely. I’ve already ordered the costumes. You want to be a prize dancing harlot for the Sultan?” Across set, Sinbad can see Cassim looking properly chastised, Ja’far looking rather satisfied with himself. Perfect.

 

"More than anything," Judal sighs, sparing a somewhat put out glance toward Cassim--not Sinbad, not by a _longshot_ \--before deciding to just not care. The sooner he gets this over with… "Okay, let's just get this done, then you can take me out to dinner or something."

 

“Anywhere you want. Pick something expensive, I’ve got a craving for nice champagne tonight.” Sinbad squeezes Judal’s hand, then gives his ass a slap. “Go on, make me proud.” _Show everyone why having you here is worth the headache._

 

Cassim is surly when Judal re-enters, but he scoops his crumpled pizza hat off the floor, crams it back onto his head, and gets back into place. “Whenever you’re ready, boss.”

 

At least Cassim doesn't have dreads between his legs.

 

It's easy enough to focus and just get shit done when the objective is getting the hell out and spending time with Sinbad. Judal _is_ good at this, after all, even if his head is pounding at the end of the day and he's starting to feel shaky all over again. A few pills and it takes care of most of it, though they don't have the same effect as before, and it's _hard_ not to pop just a few more of them when his ass is stinging and his scalp hurting a bit from where he's been yanked around. _No one_ knows how to pull hair these days…

 

"Right!" he suddenly recalls at the end of the day as he bundles himself up in his coat. "I definitely heard Kouen on the phone with that prick at one point. Not too long ago, week and a half or so? Unless you've got another Cassim running around this joint…"

 

"I'm about to just take this whole computer home with me," Ja'far mutters underneath his breath. "Sin, I _told you_ that irritating the Ren family was like kicking a beehive." 

 

Sinbad’s eyes go dark, chest tightening with sudden furious hot anger, but his voice is light enough as he suggests, “Looks like it’s not their people we have to keep an eye on, this time. Ja’far, look into it?” His face is a lot more serious than his voice when he meets Ja’far’s eyes. _Take care of it. Like you know how._ “And if he seems sorry, tell him I want to talk to him tomorrow. Judal, do you prefer American fine dining or Italian, I’ve got a craving for pasta tonight.”

 

"Italian!" Judal latches himself to Sinbad's arm, headbutting his shoulder. "And maybe afterwards, we can _practice_ for our video, hmm?"

 

Ja'far barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. "You should at least let Masrur trail you, if you're going to be out and about. I wouldn't put it past the Ren family to take a hit out on you at this point." 

 

“Good, put Masrur on it. Besides,” he adds, with a grin and a pointed look down at his jacket-covered hip, “let them try, I’m ready for them. Italian, huh?” He gives Judal’s ass a pinch, leading the way out to the car. “Good, I want to get you loaded up on carbs if we’re going to be doing some _practicing_. You’ll need all the energy you can get, I promise.”

 

"Really good," Judal sighs, flopping into the passenger seat tiredly. "Uggh, my ass hurts, though. He spanks _hard_ , doesn't he know it's supposed to be at least half for show? Jerk. I hope Ja'far kills him or something."

 

 _He just might, if Cassim pisses him off enough._ “Kills him? Boy, you really have heard a lot of lies about my company, haven’t you?” The gun on his hip is heavy on his belt as he sits, but the grin is unforced. “I’ll dock his pay for messing you up. I’m not sure if this is much consolation, but you two looked _really_ good on film.”

 

"I've heard a lot of rumors," Judal admits, settling back with a careful little wriggle. "And eh, don't worry about it, I've heard worse. I'm just whiny because I'm achy and stuff… at least we looked good. I'd just prefer if it was you."

 

“Had to keep him happy,” Sinbad admits with a sigh. “He’s awful when he’s unhappy, and the only way to keep him from making a stink is to make sure he gets paid, a _lot_. And then he lectures you about what it’s like to grow up _on the streets_ , as if he’s the only one in this line of work that--” He cuts himself off, biting his tongue. “But he looks great on film. And he’s got quite a following.”

 

"Fucking asshat about being black, too--like, who _cares?_ " Judal snorts, his eyes rolling. "Really cute, calling me a terrorist. I think it made him mad that I was such a good fuck." 

 

“He’s over-sensitive. And pissy. Don’t tell him I said that.” Sinbad pulls into his favorite Italian place, tossing the keys to the valet. “He’s _probably_ annoyed because he’s been trying to get me to hire a friend of his for months, and you just took the top spot.”

 

"Well, maybe if his friend was as hot as I am, you would've hired them already," Judal sniffs as he climbs out of the car. "I never get to go anywhere this good," he sighs happily. "Always stuck at Ren 'family' dinners by myself--hey, does all this mean we're official? Like, dating? Freckles won't care, will he?" 

 

“Why would Ja’far care?” Sinbad asks, blinking in slight confusion. “He doesn’t care who I date. Which, at the moment, is you.” He wraps an arm around Judal, ignoring a couple dirty looks from older men and woman as he strides into the restaurant. “Table for two.”

 

“Do you have reservations?” the hostess asks, blinking up at him through a thick pair of glasses. 

 

“I have a table. Sinbad.” 

 

He has to laugh to himself when a waiter appears as if by magic, hurrying him to his permanent table by the garden. “It just sounds so good to say,” he murmurs to Judal, pulling out the chair for him before seating himself. “I liked my alias so much I changed my legal name years ago. That’s in my book too, by the way. Very cool story.”

 

"I was wondering if that was your real name or not," Judal admits as he sits down, shimmying out of his coat as he looks around the restaurant. "And what do you mean, dating me 'right now'? I'm a permanent fixture, you're not kicking me out any time soon." _Or you better not, at least._

 

“I meant I’m dating you right now as in, this is us, here, right now, on a date. So obviously, we’re dating.” Sinbad leans forward onto his elbows, then breaks off a hunk of bread from the basket. “And when you come back to my place tonight, we’ll be fucking _right now._ Doesn’t mean we’re not going to keep fucking for as long as you can take it.”

 

"Oh. Well. Good, then." Judal sinks back after stealing a piece of bread for himself, looking infinitely pleased. "I'm surprised no one's tried to drag me off yet," he admits. "But that thing with Cassim, that might be their way of getting back at you if it's legit…"

 

“You know they really can’t, right?” Sinbad asks, raising an eyebrow. “You’re an adult. It’s a free country. No one can _make_ you do anything except the police, and that’s only if you let them catch you,” he finishes with a wink.

 

"Yeah… You're right." Judal shifts, absently rubbing at his arm. Never mind it's less an issue of being a free country and the simple fact that the Rens aren't really _that_ bad, they're just… well, mostly, _Gyokuen_ is just a bitch, and it's hard to get out from underneath her influence. "They just took care of me for awhile," he says instead, which is also true. "It's hard to forget I don't have to listen to them when I'm not mooching off of them." 

 

Sinbad waves a dismissive hand, then grabs another piece of bread, dipping it in olive oil and vinegar. “You shouldn’t think about it that way. You were working for them, they were paying you. You were making money before you hooked up with the Rens, right? Cam modeling?”

 

"If you could even call that money. It's hard finding places that'll… well… fake IDs are hard," Judal mutters underneath his breath, put out. "Anyway, I was living in their house, that's a little bit different than them just paying me." 

 

“You said they paid for your apartment,” Sinbad points out. A finger signals a waiter, and a moment later expensive champagne splashes into his glass. “Thirsty? We’re celebrating, after all.”

 

"… Never exactly _stayed_ in it--they always wanted me over, so I was over… nicer there, besides," Judal grumbles. He pauses, opens his mouth to say something about how he's not really legal, but then again, his ID does say he's 23, so--"Yeah, sure. What are we celebrating again?" 

 

“The completion of your first film with Sindria Studios, of course!” At a signal the waiter pours a second flute, and Sinbad holds his aloft. “To the first of many, and the beginning of a long string of successes.”

 

Coming from Sinbad, it actually sounds _real_ \--not a pitch sold to keep him around, not a bunch of pretty words to keep fucking with him. Judal grins, lifting his own glass to toast with the other man. "Yeah, okay. I'll drink to that, so long as my next film is with you!"

 

Sinbad drinks eagerly to that, refilling his glass before he sets it down. “Beautiful. I’ve already got the writer working on it, did I tell you? She should have it done by tomorrow, then we just have to wait for the costumes. Not exactly standard issue schoolboy.”

 

"All the more reason to practice after dinner," Judal happily reminds him. "And thank god, _you_ have really nice hair.  No gross dreads."

 

“It’s _your_ hair I’m interested in pulling,” Sinbad says, but he can’t help running an appreciative hand back through his own hair, or side-eyeing himself in the window. He _does_ look nice today, definitely. The suit jacket was a good idea. “Seriously, not a peep from the Rens?”

 

Judal shakes his head, though pulls out his phone for good measure, flipping through just to make sure. "Nothing. Really not a good sign--ugh," he groans, flopping back into his seat. "Can we quit and go into hiding or something?" 

 

“Not on the table. I’m not afraid of them,” Sinbad reminds Judal, and plucks the phone from his fingers. “I can take care of myself, and I can take care of you. I haven’t gotten where I am by letting people threaten and intimidate me or the people I care about.”

 

"Not afraid of them either, just tired of their bullshit," Judal mumbles, pouting as he looks aside. "And don't want Gyokuen stabbing me with more needles again, that sucks." 

 

“Judal.” Sinbad reaches across the table, brushing his fingers under Judal’s chin, meeting his eyes. “It’s no crime to end a business relationship when it’s not working out. Or a personal one. You have to do what’s right for you.”

 

"Mmn." _Wish it were that easy._ "I know." _They took care of me, you don't get it._ Judal shrugs, leaning away. "Just hard not to miss certain things, I guess. Wonder how Gyoku's doing, too."

 

“The girl? Right, you two were dating.” Sinbad fills up his glass again, and tops off Judal’s champagne. “This split might be a good thing for that, you know. Hard to hide from her brothers in her house, but...well, Kouen can’t be everywhere. I sure wouldn’t care if you brought someone home.”

 

Drinking is a really good thing right now, Judal decides, and he promptly knocks back his glass. "She's at boarding school, sent her there after they found out we had the slightest thing going on," he sighs, annoyed. "It's better if I don't bother, she'll just get in trouble."

 

“Ah, well. There are other hot Asian fish in the sea. You ready to order?”

 

Judal barely resists kicking him underneath the table. "Yeah. Food is good." Better to drown his sorrows in food and champagne than give into the desire to pop another damned pill. It's bad, probably, that he's even considering it. Oh well.

 

“So,” Sinbad says, when the food is ordered and the champagne refilled, “tell me your secret. Don’t worry, I won’t do anything with it, I just want to know. What is it,” he asks, leaning forward to rest his cheek on one hand, “that makes you look so much better on camera than anyone I’ve met in….well, ever? The camera doesn’t add ten pounds, the lights don’t wash you out, I doubt you even need makeup.”

 

"… Sold my soul to a camera demon?" Judal dryly supplies, then gives a little, unsure shrug. "I really don't know. I didn't know I looked _that_ good. I just do whatever, I like fucking so it's easy. The end." 

 

“You started real young. What, fourteen, fifteen?” Sinbad gives him a wry grin. “Same age as me, when I ran away. But you’re a hell of a lot easier to work with than most guys I’ve worked with, even the ones in their thirties, forties. I mean, except that whole racist gigglefit bitchfight.”

 

"I wasn't being racist!" Judal protests with a pout. " _He_ was the one making it into a race thing. I was just--look, his hair was gross and I was kind of high, so it made it _really funny_ and I couldn't help it. I said I was sorry."

 

Sinbad waves that away, a grin on his face. “I meant him, not you. Don’t worry, I know he’s the one that started flinging those words around.” He tilts his head to one side, thinking. “If you could make any movie, any movie you wanted, dream cast, dream script, whatever, what would you want to do?”

 

"Dunno," he sighs, plopping his chin down into his hands. "Doesn't really matter, even, so long as it has you in it. I wanted to make a video with you for a looong while. I didn't think you'd ever come out of retirement, though."

 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I would either.” Sinbad leans back in his chair, eyes widening at the arrival of his veal, tucking in as he muses, “I didn’t expect you to be so convincing. It’s going to be weird to top on camera, though. Have to get all new acting skills, all new faces to make.”

 

"You did it already before, though!" Judal reminds him cheerfully, making an eager grab for his own silverware when his food touches down. "Remember, we made a video ourselves. Not much more effort than that. Unless you wanna be lazy and surprise, the belly dancer bangs you on your throne." 

 

“Ah, it’s different, and you know it.” Sinbad scratches his head, remembering the lights, the uncomfortable positions, the deep, burning _ache_ that had come with being filled for hours at a time--but he wouldn’t be doing that, he reminds himself. It will be different. And it’ll be with Judal. “Maybe that’s the secret to you. You always make it look real.”

 

"But it's not, really--maybe it was for you, because you didn't like bottoming that much," Judal points out, twirling a generous portion of spaghetti around his fork. "So you were actually acting. _That_ takes effort. I'm actually getting off, not faking it." His head tilts contemplatively. "Does that make me a slut?"

 

“Of course not. Not for this line of work, anyway.” Sinbad has to close his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste of the meat and pasta and cheese. “My mentor used to say that if you can still remember some part of everyone you’ve slept with that hasn’t paid you, you’re not a slut.” He frowns. “Though he was probably just trying to get me into bed. That’s a lot of qualifications.”

 

"Ah, I'm a slut, then," Judal confirms with that reasoning, entirely unashamed. "I don't remember anything about Cassim other than the fact he was a douchebag."

 

“That’s enough for me,” Sinbad says dismissively. “Besides, you’re getting paid for today, so that doesn’t count.”

 

"… Proobably would do it anyway," he admits with a sheepish grin. "Just because it's fun. Though I would be a lot pickier." 

 

“Let me guess, if you weren’t getting paid….no dreads?” Sinbad laughs, tossing back another glass of champagne. “You should have seen him before I cleaned him up.”

 

"Giiiaaant pass. Don't want pics, don't show me, too gross. Black guys are fine, just no dreads," Judal shudders. "Have you _seen_ those things hen you cut them open?"

 

“Better not,” Sinbad decides. “Better leave me content in my delusions, or I’d probably break into his house and shave him in his sleep.” He shoves the last few bites into all the sauce he can muster, finishing with another glass of champagne. “The veal here is ridiculous. You want dessert?” The image of giving Judal _another_ kind of treat flashes into his mind, and he leans forward, laying a hand on Judal’s. “Or I could take you home still hungry.”

 

"… If you have ice cream at home," Judal _innocently_ suggests, "we can always have dessert that way. I make a good platter."

 

Sinbad’s eyes flash. “You’d be cold. And _sweet_. And it would get really messy, and….well, let’s just say I’d have a lot of clean-up work to do.”

 

"Sounds like you get all the really fun parts," Judal sighs, batting his lashes. "Do I get to have something sweet, too?" 

 

“I’ve got whipped cream,” Sinbad suggests, running a finger down Judal’s hand. “And cherries. And chocolate syrup. And sliced peaches. Any of this sound good?”

 

Judal's fingers curl, flexing rather like a kneading cat. "Depends on if I get to eat it off of you or not."

 

“You get,” Sinbad murmurs, “to eat it off any part of me you want.” He raises an eyebrow, foot sliding forward under the table to run up the inside of one slender leg. “Anything in particular come to mind?”

 

Now that's _really_ not fair. Judal shivers, toes curling a bit in his shoes as he wriggles. "Stomach… and thighs… but the best part is afterwards," Judal sighs, eyes lidding, "when I finally get to suck your cock again. Missed the taste of _you_. Might skip dessert for that." 

 

Sinbad wads up his napkin, dropping it on the table before pulling out cash, leaving a very generous tip before standing, offering Judal his hand. “Shall we?”

 

He sort of doubts they’ll even _get_ to the dessert, just as they hadn’t gotten to his slow tease of fucking Judal with toy after toy before, always giving up after ten minutes and throwing each other against something, mouths and hands hungry, and ah, he’s missed feeling like this. It’s all he can do to keep his hands off Judal on the car ride home, and honestly he doesn’t try very hard. By the time they make it back to his apartment, he’s a bare second away from throwing Judal against the wall. “You still hungry?” he breathes, wrapping his arms around Judal from behind the moment they’re inside, bending to nibble on his neck.

 

Dessert's a nice idea, but car rides always make Judal's mind wander, _especially_ when he can't grab and touch too much during them. "Yeah, but--" He wriggles, twisting in Sinbad's hold with a grin, stretching up on tiptoe to wrap his arms around his neck. "I've got a better idea for _dessert_ now. Well, at least I think it's a good one. You can laugh, if you want."

 

Sinbad’s eyebrows raise, and he slings his arms around Judal’s back, pulling him close as he murmurs in the kid’s ear, “I have a feeling I’ll say yes. Go on, tell me.” Mentally, he runs over a list of what Judal’s likely to ask for--yep, should have everything in the house already, no need to shop.

 

"… Just wondering what your cock would look like all wrapped up in lace." Judal wriggles closer, a hand snaking down to palm Sinbad through his slacks. "Y'know, underneath this nice suit of yours… it'd be fun unwrapping it all to find panties and garters and things." He licks his lips. "I wanna suck you off, while you're still wearing all of it." 

 

Damn, but that’s enough to make Sinbad wish he’d worn something like that already. He tips Judal’s head up, brushes a kiss across his lips, and murmurs, “Hold that thought. And make yourself comfortable wherever you want, I’ll find you.”

 

There’s something to be said for having the kind of life he does. Part of that is a rather extensive collection of lingerie left from past partners, some of it brought to his home for screentests before they’d had a whole studio, and it’s the work of a minute to slide into a lacy thong, amused at himself as he tugs his pants back on, leaving his shirt untucked. “Judal?” he calls, creeping back into the living room.

 

Judal perks up from where he's flopped on the couch, pushing himself up onto his elbows with an eager sweep of his eyes. Sinbad looks good no matter what, but untucked and somewhat hurried-touseled--yeah, that's really nice. Nicer still, imagining what's underneath. "… You wanna fuck my mouth right here, Daddy?" he breathes. "Or do you want me on my knees?" 

 

“On your knees.” He hasn’t had Judal quite like this yet, and with eyes (and eye makeup) like that, it’s hard to remember why, except that he hadn’t wanted to scare the kid. Like that’s even _possible_. “And open your mouth, I want to see how much you want to suck me off.” He walks forward, palming himself through the expensive fabric, gold eyes flashing.

 

It's hard to remember a time he's moved so fast to do as he's told, scrambling up and then down to his knees in front of Sinbad, lips parting eagerly as he whines in the back of his throat. One hand lifts to grab, tugging at Sinbad's slacks, wanting them _down_ so he can see what's underneath and more importantly, wanting his _cock_.

 

Judal looks like he’s made for this, an eager, hungry thing pawing at the front of his pants, revealing the black lace and strings. “Go on,” he urges, and threads a hand in Judal’s hair, yanking his face closer, using enough strength to rub against Judal’s cheek, a wet spot already leaving a slick trail through the lace. “You’re good at this, right? Show me.”

 

Judal huffs out a hot, eager breath, nuzzling eagerly between Sinbad's legs as his fingers make quick work of yanking Sinbad's pants down. He was right, of course--Sinbad looks _good_ in lingerie, even if it's just a scrap of lace. It looks obscene against his thick, straining cock, and Judal's lips part, mouthing the hard line of him through the skimpy material, a low, hungry noise rumbling in the back of his throat.

 

He doesn't bother with his hands--doesn't need them, not when his teeth can catch the edge of the panties and tug them down, leaving them bunching low but not entirely off when his lips close around the head of Sinbad's cock, tongue hungrily lapping at him, his eyes lidded and dark. "You gonna shove my face down, Daddy?" he pants out, cheeks flushing with the very thought. "Want you to. Want you to make me choke on your big cock." 

 

Judal’s mouth is a sinful thing, both the words spilling from it and the hot, wet drag of it against his cock, making Sinbad’s breath come short, his skin tingle. “I bet you do,” he murmurs, both hands coming up now to tangle in Judal’s hair, getting a nice firm grip on him that won’t pull too sharply. “You like cock, right? I can see it in your eyes when you’re shooting, you love having it in you.” 

 

His arms tighten, and he yanks Judal down, bumping against the back of his throat and barely pausing before thrusting forward again. “Take my cock then. Show me how much you need it, my slutty baby girl."

 

Judal _groans_ , his eyes rolling back as he swallows hard around Sinbad's cock, wet, sloppy noises escaping as he works to take every inch of him. No matter how good he is, it still makes him gag--Sinbad's _thick_ , filling every inch of his mouth and making him pant hard through his nose, his eyes wet as he glances up through his lashes, mouth stuffed full and working still for _more_.

 

His hands are eager things, grabbing at Sinbad's hips, fingers sliding up into the strings of his panties as he grabs, nuzzling down further until his nose bumps against Sinbad's skin again. Judal's own cock throbs between his legs with every suck and swallow, every drag of his tongue that lets him taste all the more, and he squirms, moaning when Sinbad shoves deep down his throat.

 

“Slut.”

 

It makes him harder just to sigh out the word, as if Sinbad needs to be any harder right now. His hips twitch forward every time he yanks Judal down, and he makes an effort to pull out with a slick pop, a thin strand of saliva trailing between the head of his cock and Judal’s lips. One little motion is enough to rub his cock over those shiny, swollen red lips, and a wet streak up one cheek. “Beg me to put it back in,” he murmurs, one hand coming down to curl around the base of his own cock, wiping it on Judal’s face. “Tell me you want your Daddy to fuck your face.” It’s probably a lot more obscene that he’s doing this with the elastic string of a thong digging slightly into his balls, but somehow that just makes him harder too.

 

Judal shudders, his eyes fluttering as his swollen lips part eagerly, tongue swiping over them for another _taste_. "Please." His voice is a desperate, hoarse thing, and it takes everything he has not to come without even _touching_ himself. "P-please, Daddy," he groans, lurching forward to nuzzle at Sinbad's cock, mouthing a hot, sloppy kiss to the side of it. "Put it back in, fuck my face, love being just a _hole_ for you--"

 

Damn, but he’d made a good decision when he’d picked Judal up. Sinbad smiles down at him, tightening his hand in Judal’s hair, and guides his cock back in. “Since you asked me so nicely, there’s a good girl,” he croons. “You can barely breathe, can you? You just want to choke on my cock?”

 

He holds Judal’s head still, meets his mascara-running eyes, and thrusts forward slowly, inexorably, groaning when the head of his cock slides down Judal’s throat. “There you go,” he breathes. “There you go, take it like a good slut.”

 

A desperate, muffled whine chokes into the back of his throat, vision wet and blurry when he tries to wriggle forward just a bit more, until he can't take anymore and he gags, choking on Sinbad's cock. God, he's a slut for _liking_ that, but that makes him harder still--makes him twitch in the confines of his jeans as his hips all but grind against the air. 

 

He'd beg Sinbad to come on his face, but like hell he even wants to pull away. Like hell he _could_ \--Sinbad's hands are tight and firm in his hair, holding his head down or each slow, _hard_ thrust, and Judal just whimpers, eyes rolling back when he strains against the hold on principle, just to feel Sinbad's hands tighten and shove him down all the more.

 

Judal’s mouth is something that Sinbad wants to enjoy _forever_ , but, well, this is one time he doesn’t mind his tendency towards instant gratification. There will be other blowjobs--Judal looks too good, too _sinful_ on his knees sucking cock, lips stretched obscenely wide as he makes those overwhelmed little choking sounds, throat spasming around him, and Sinbad loses control for a second, thrusting in so hard he can feel Judal’s face pressed against his belly. Liquid heat pools at the base of his spine, and he gasps, hot and ragged as he pulls back, spilling over Judal’s tongue, a wrench of his hips pulling him out to finish on the kid’s face. His pulse pounds, knees almost buckling, and his fingers are twisted tight in Judal’s hair as he grinds out, “You like the taste, baby? Sluts like you like to drink a lot of that, right?”

 

It takes a moment for Judal to remember how to _breathe_. Sinbad's taste on his tongue, smearing his lips, dripping hot over his face--it's all too much, and he comes without a single touch to his own cock, spilling hot and messy in his own jeans, shivering and twitching where he kneels in front of the other man. "R…really… really like it, Daddy," he moans out, eyes shutting as his tongue flicks out, swiping over his own lips with a whimper in the back of his throat. His head lolls forward, and he licks a hot, wet stripe up Sinbad's softening cock, sucking on the tip to make _sure_ he's tasted all that he can. "Love it--love it when you fuck my face like that--"

 

Sinbad kneels, his legs finally giving out, and he licks a swath up Judal’s cheek, dragging his tongue across the mess he’d left, then pulling him into a deep kiss. He runs his fingers through sweat-damp hair, petting, scratching gently, and murmurs, “You’re _way_ too good at that. I never usually come so fast.”

 

"Yeah?" Judal dazedly grins, giving Sinbad's lower lip a nibble before he lets his head loll forward against the other man's shoulder. "You could use me all night like that if you wanted. I love it."

 

Sinbad stands abruptly, lifting Judal bridal-style in his arms, and carrying him to the bedroom. “Your turn. I saw you on the set, now I want to see what you look like in those pretty frilly things. Before I rip them off you, anyway.”

 

That's nearly enough to make him hard again, no matter if he's just come all over himself. "You must have a hell of a collection," Judal sighs out, letting his head loll back over Sinbad's arm. "Let me dress up pretty for you all the time."

 

“I bet you’d be pretty no matter what you wear,” Sinbad says with a grin, leaning down to give him a kiss before tossing the kid lightly onto the bed. He hits the lights, and opens the spare props and costume closet, raising an eyebrow. “See anything that you like?”

 

"I look good in red," Judal helpfully suggests as he flops onto his back, lazily lifting a hand to start with the buttons of his clothes and properly strip them off. "I'll let you yank my corset strings, if you've got one in there."

 

“Definitely have corsets. Not sure about sizing--what are you, a six in women’s? Try this.” A dark red corset hits the bed, already unlaced. “Don’t pick anything too hard to get out of, I want easy access.”

 

"Ooh, nice." Judal loosely laces up the back before he eagerly wriggles into it, letting the strings trail down, ripe for the _yanking_. "Keep the rest simple, just gimme a thong and some stockings. Used to wear that stuff underneath my clothes all the time. I miss my collection." 

 

“I’ll get you a new one. We can go shopping, if you want.” A matching thong and a pair of stockings hits the bed before he closes the closet, eagerly watching Judal get dressed. “I’ll blow off work some day and just take you around to all the nice shops, we can scandalize the salesgirls.”

 

"Sure you don't want me to just pretend to be your girlfriend?" Judal teases, taking his time to roll each stocking up his legs. " _Kouha_ used to do that, little slut." 

 

“ _Kouha_ is girly as hell. You’ve at least got some nice muscle tone, and some height on you. Nah, we’d be obvious, it’s more fun to watch them blush and stammer.”

 

"True that." Judal lets the thong _snap_ into place before he flops back, rolling over in short order with an arch of his back. "You wanna tighten my corset for me, Daddy?" 

 

Sinbad has to take a moment to compose himself before joining Judal on the bed, setting a knee to either side of Judal’s hips. “You look pretty,” he murmurs, taking one thick string in each hand. “You know, I’m pretty strong. How tight do you want it?”

 

Judal licks his lips, considering. "… Tight enough," he breathes, throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Like it when I'm a little short of breath. Also makes it even better when you're fucking me. You can always yank it tighter later."

 

Sinbad gives a little pull, nowhere near as much as his full strength, watching the string slide easily through the eyelets. Already the shape curves inward, pressing in tight, shaping Judal’s body. “Like this?”

 

Judal might as well have purred, his back arching as his breath sucks in sharp and fast. "Y-yeah. Little bit more, and it's perfect," he sighs. 

 

Sinbad wraps the strings around his hands again, pulling slowly a bit more, then fastening it off. “I probably shouldn’t find this as erotic as I do,” he confesses, a bit sheepishly.

 

A huff of breath, and Judal flops down, pressing his face into the sheets with a little, pleased groan. "Why not?" he sighs over his shoulder, wriggling his hips. "Crossdressing's fun, so long as you're not typecast in it all the time. _You_ look good in lace, too. You should fuck me while still wearing those panties of yours."

 

“I meant tightening your corset,” Sinbad says, giving the strings a quick, playful tug. He eases forward, rubbing his hardening lace-covered cock over the curve of Judal’s ass, thumb fiddling with the string. “I just really like the idea of fucking you while you’re begging for breath.”

 

"… Should try shoving me around by the throat sometime, then," Judal replies with a slow, lazy grin, his hips rolling back with a shiver running up his spine. "Like it when I can't catch my breath. Like it a _lot_." 

 

Sinbad’s eyes are dark, and he drags a hand down Judal’s spine, thrumming against the crisscrossed strings. “Shouldn’t tempt me, boy. Are you so sure I’m the kind of man who wouldn’t lose control?”

 

"If you are, maybe that turns me on," Judal breathily groans, squirming beneath the slide of Sinbad's big hands. "You can do all kinds of things to me, whatever you want. I like it. I _trust_ you." 

 

Sinbad leans down to nip at the expanse of one bared shoulder, then murmurs in Judal’s ear, “Good. I’ll never hurt you.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Kouen has been drifting for a while.

 

He usually doesn’t let himself get like this except on special occasions, but it’s sort of one of those. He’s finally got a foothold into destroying Sindria Studios once and for all, the Private Eye has confirmed his idiot slut runaway star’s location, and best of all, his stepmother is out of town. 

 

Also, his little brother had graduated today, but Kouen has sort of forgotten about that already. It was important, and he’d flown in for the ceremony, helped him move and everything as Ha had shown him off at the boarding school, even been quite amicable through dinner, but it’s been a long day, and there’s no better cure for a headache than opiates.

 

All right, there are many better cures. But none that quite leave him feeling as if everything is possible, and nothing is necessary, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom and wondering how long he has until he has to swallow another pill or come down. Kouha had definitely been _right_ , urging him to indulge, just a little, just on his special day.

 

If Kouen's going to indulge at his mere suggestion, then Kouha certainly is, too.

 

Of course, it's really to make his brother properly _relax_ \--something that Kouen hasn't done in ages, Kouha knows, and especially not lately after Judal decided to take off once and for all. He'll do something better about that later, but for now… 

 

"You _already_ look better, En," Kouha cheerfully offers as he shuts the door behind himself, slinking his way into the room. "Much more relaxed."

 

Kouen looks up, and the world sparkles pleasantly for a moment. His lips curl in a smile as he lays back, using a finger to trace patterns in the air. “You didn’t give me the regular stuff. You gave me something….shiny.”

 

"Best stuff," Kouha confirms with a grin, and with a hum, he simply plops himself down onto the edge of the bed. "Good kinda shiny, isn't it? It has to be making you feel better."

 

“Is this the stuff that kept you from graduating early?” Kouen asks, trailing into a little laugh. “You’re too smart to graduate high school at eighteen with Mei giving you all the answers.”

 

Kouha's eyes roll at that. "No, that was just the girls," he admits, and idly, he slides a hand up along the inside of Kouen's thigh, slowly stroking. "Stuck around for them. It was worth it." 

 

Kouen lazily lifts a hand to slap his brother’s away. “Heard you got another one pregnant. The Queen’s going to be maaaaad at you.” God, he hears his own voice, and knows it should make him sick. It just sort of makes him laugh.

 

"She got an abortion," Kouha dismisses, his hand _far_ from moving anywhere but upward, his fingers tiptoeing along. "Eeeeen, wouldn't you like to relax a little bit more? I know," he adds, grinning, "that slut of yours has you really stressed out." 

 

“You’re the one acting like a slut,” Kouen grumbles, making a face as he shoves at Kouha’s head with less than stellar accuracy. “Stop that, go run down one of my stars or something.”

 

"But you _like_ sluts, En," is the younger man's sigh, and he flops down between Kouen's legs, propping his chin in one hand as the other lazily unbuttons his brother's fly. "Why else would you keep Judal around?" 

 

Kouen’s pretty sure that sober, he’d be treating this problem with a lot more seriousness. At the moment, it just feels like sort of an inconvenience, like it _should_ bother him, like poking a numbed tooth he knows is going to be sore later. “Don’t talk about him,” he mutters, rolling over onto his side. “Mad at him.”

 

"Mm, okay." Kouha follows the roll, smiling as he nuzzles forward, catching the zipper of Kouen's pants with his teeth to tug it down. "Won't talk about anything, then." 

 

“You’re sick in the head,” Kouen mutters, but he doesn’t try to roll away again. His hand comes up to push Kouha’s head away, but it _does_ feel nice, someone being so honestly hungry for him. “Just promise me we won’t talk about this tomorrow.”

 

Kouha doesn't argue. He probably _is_ sick in the head, but, well, if he likes something, he might as well act on properly _enjoying_ it. Briefly, he butts his head up against Kouen's hand, his fingers eager to hook into fabric and tug it all _down_. "Talk about _what?_ " he sweetly subverts, his fingers splaying over his brother's thighs as he gives a slow nuzzle, and careful lick to the tip of Kouen's cock. 

 

“How you’re a creepy slut who sucks his brothers’ dicks,” Kouen groans, and fists his hand in Kouha’s hair, petting and twisting a little. “Just don’t want it to be weird.” In his current state, it makes perfect sense. If they never _talk_ about it, nothing will be weird, and he doesn’t have to think about how much harder his cock gets when he looks down and sees who’s crawling between his legs.

 

The hand in his hair makes him groan, and Kouha's eyes flutter as he lurches up into the touch, mouthing a hot, sloppy kiss to Kouen's cock. "Won't be weird," he sighs out, dragging a thumb over the tip of Kouen's cock before dragging it away to lick it clean. He can't help but _like_ comparing his two older brothers. Even if Kouen's thicker, Mei is still _bigger_ , and that makes him smirk. "You can pull my hair all you want," he murmurs, and with that, eagerly works his mouth around the head of that thick cock, moaning at the taste on his tongue, and the slippery, slick drip of it, the ache of his own jaw as Kouha swallows him down as much as he can.

 

_There’s something really wrong with you._

 

There’s something wrong with him too, Kouen knows, but he doesn’t _care_ right now, not when he can lay back and let his cock get sucked by a lovely little barely-legal thing, purring pretty words and sucking him like a whore. There is some urge in him to really pull, to make Ha reconsider, make him realize that his eldest brother isn’t a lazy toy like Mei, make him _think twice_ before trying something like this again--

 

But most of him just feels good. 

 

He looks down, voice hoarse and low. “Can you take more?” he murmurs, tugging a bit. “Like seeing it go all the way in.”

 

It's a lot better when Kouen is enjoying himself, and he's enjoying himself a _lot_ now. It's obvious from the way En hardens against his tongue, and Kouha's eyes briefly shut as he groans a low, ragged confirmation, fingers sliding up to splay against his brother's hips as he works his mouth down.

 

It _does_ take effort. It's not exactly a past time Kouha frequently indulges in as of late, or at least, not with someone this _big_ , and that makes it more fun, the _challenge_ of it. His jaw aches, lips bruised and sticky by the time he manages to swallow all of Kouen, breathing fast through nose as it nuzzles into his brother's belly, a soft, eager noise escaping that begs for Kouen to look all he wants (and more).

 

Even as drifting and pleasant as he feels, Kouen can’t help but want _more_. A smile curls his lips, and he rolls over, pinning Kouha to the bed, a little of that desire coming out more. “You’re playing with fire,” he whispers, and lets his weight pin the boy to the bed, thrusting slowly down, inexorably filling his mouth.

 

It would be a lie to say he’s _never_ thought of it before. It would be a lie to say he’s never looked, when Kouha goes around dressed like a fucking girl half the time, or he’s walked in on Mei on his knees, that slut, and Ha looking so _pleased_ with himself, climbing all over him--

 

Everyone has ugly thoughts, probably, that they lock away. Maybe it’s not so bad to let them out, when he’s not the one unlocking them.

 

Ah, yeah, this was a really good idea.

 

Kouha groans, the sound lost in his throat when, like this, Kouen's cock slides in so much _deeper_. His fingers slide up, scratching over Kouen's hips, sliding around to grab at his ass and pull him eagerly down, his throat a spasm around that big cock as he fights back the urge to gag. 

 

It's a rare day that _he_ likes being held down and used, but it's _En_ \--En is always something different, so it shouldn't be a surprise that _sex_ is different with him, too. 

 

Everything about this is wrong, but Kouen can’t stop himself. He doesn’t _want_ to, not when Ha’s mouth is so bruised and wet and pretty and hot, not when he’s gagging like he wants more, not when Kouen can admit that he’s wanted to hold his little brother down and use him like one of his whores for a while now. “You’re good at that,” he breathes, thrusting in deep, holding it there, feeling Kouha’s nose pressed against his belly and liking the urgent, choked little noises he hears. “You hard?”

 

A sloppy, wet noise escapes, eager no matter how he _chokes_ , and Kouha squeezes his eyes shut as he sucks in a hot, ragged breath through his nose and sucks, slurps, his tongue an eager wriggle no matter his throat's desperate gulping. _Really hard_ he wants to say, his own legs spreading a bit wider, and god, it's a little hard remembering what it's like not wanting Kouen to just fuck his face.

 

Kouen isn’t moving as fast, as intently, or as accurately as he wants. It’s still _good_ , but instead of the rapid thrusts he usually favors, and ah, he can almost _hear_ the way Kouha would choke around his cock, he moves slower, more deliberately, all the way in, holding deep, before sliding a little way out, then all the way in to the root again. “I own you,” Kouen mutters, shoving his little brother down to the bed. He’s not quite sure where the words come from, but god, they feel good to say.

 

Kouha's eyes roll back, and his moan is one of thorough, definite assent as his fingers dig in, squeezing tight in an attempt to drag Kouen in _deeper_ , no matter how his mouth is already so, so full and his throat protesting every inch shoved down it. Kouen being so slow, so _thorough_ about fucking him like this--it's unexpected, no less good, and if anything even _better_ , with each ragged, frantic breath that escapes through his nose when Kouen holds down just a _bit_ too long.

 

He shouldn’t, _shouldn’t_ get harder, get off so much on the way his brother thrashes a little, urgent, panicky involuntary noises coming from his throat. He shouldn’t get off on that, shouldn’t want to know what Kouha’s eyes would look like when he’s _really_ desperate, or how his throat would clench, how his hands would scrabble at Kouen’s hips--

 

He does want to know, a _little_.

 

“Can you breathe?” It’s a dickish question, when he’s buried to the hilt in his little brother’s mouth, sliding in all the way, an inch or two out, and all the way back in, unwilling to slide out even for a second.

 

Maybe he just wants to hear Kouha choke some more.

 

Normally, Kouha doesn't get off on this sort of thing at _all_.

 

Normally it's Mei, or anyone _else_ that wants to be shoved down and held down and _used_ , anyone but him shoved down hard into a bed with their mouth stuffed full of cock. Kouah whines, a desperate sound lost in the back of his throat when his world spins, eyes tearing up with each slow, but _hard_ thrust that makes him squirm weakly.

 

Kouen opens his mouth to say something else, but he catches a glimpse of Kouha’s eyes, wide and full of tears, and anything he was about to say is lost. He groans, slamming down one final time, burying himself as deep as he can go, spilling down Kouha’s throat. He collapses, panting hard, the spinning sensations in his head too strong to ignore, too strong to power through, and for a long, long time, everything just _swirls_.

 

Kouen flooding his mouth so suddenly makes him cough, choking no matter how he quickly swallows. It's more the angle than anything that throws him off, and god, telling Mei about this later is probably going to get him of all over again, what with how he sloppily sucks and swallows, trying to lick everything up. His own cock throbs, but it's not even a priority to touch himself, not with his lips bruised and sticky and his jaw _aching_. No, definitely better like this. 

 

"Better?" Kouha finally rasps when he wriggles away, nursing his bruised bottom lip with a suck as he shivers visibly. "En's always so _tense_ , it's the least I can do to help a little bit."

 

Kouen sags down to the bed, still breathing hard. “Not tense now. Not….not.” He tries to pet Kouha’s cheek, but sort of whacks him gently over the head instead. “You give me things.”

 

Kouha grins shakily at that, and chooses to take it as a compliment. "Like giving you things," he sighs, rubbing his head into Kouen's hand and pretending he's being petted. "Maybe I will again later. En can do other things to me, then."

 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Kouen can hear his speech being slurred and wonders who’s doing that. 

 

It’s his last thought for quite a while.

 

~~

 

Sleeping in is _awesome_.

 

Judal can't remember the last time he was allowed to do it when he lived with the Ren family. With Sinbad, it's whenever he wants, so long as he goes to the studio on the days they actually need him, and Sinbad's bed is so comfortable that that's a really, _really_ good thing. Getting up would be a problem, anyway.

 

It's a little bit before noon with the sun shining in through the windows that he finally rouses, though not on his own accord. It's a knock on the door, followed by the doorbell, and then repeat, that drags him out of bed, grumbling and remembering just barely to smooth down Sinbad's shirt that he's wearing. It hits about mid-thigh, at least; presentable enough to answer doors that are probably just mailmen or something, anyway. 

 

"Stop fucking ringing the doorbell, it's noisy," Judal grumbles, mostly to himself. The apartment is empty--Sinbad long left for work himself, Judal remembers that much in his half-asleep stupor earlier that morning. Yawning, he unlatches the door, opening it and blinking when he has to glance _down_ at the person standing there in front of it. 

 

Oh.

 

 _Shit_.

 

"Kou…gyoku?"

 

Kougyoku has to remind herself not to _hit_ him.

 

He looks so _stupid_ , all messy and roughed up and sleepy and cute, and she stamps a high-heeled boot on the floor, folding her arms and reminding herself not to let him know how much she’s missed him. “What do you think you’re _doing_?” she demands, scowling up furiously at him. “I was away for a _year_ because of you, and when I got home they said you were _gone_ and living with an old man and you were supposed to take me ice skating, you asshole!”

 

"I--" Ah, shit. Shit shit shit, it's too early for this, he just woke up, and he's not _prepared_ to deal with a foot-stomping Kougyoku that looks really pissed off. "I'm--first of all, he's not _old_ ," Judal protests, scowling down at her and folding his arms over his own chest. "Second of all, I got a new job, okay? Can you blame me, living with your family fucking sucks!"

 

“He is _so_ old! En told me, he’s like _thirty_!” 

 

Kougyoku loses just a bit of control, and stabs a pointed finger into his chest. “You should have told me! I wouldn’t have come home at _all_ , I’d have gone to New York with my roommate for the summer, I only came home to see _you_!”

 

"Thirty isn't that old!!" Okay, maybe it looks pretty bad when he's 18 and living with a guy that'll be thirty pretty soon, but that's really beside the point. Judal's scowl deepens. "Who said you can't still see me, huh? Look, I tried to call you and everything, but your number changed and I didn't know how to find your new one! En was keeping you under pretty tight wraps after… you know," he says, the long sleeve of Sinbad's shirt flopping over his hand as he waves it irritably, "everything." 

 

The tears burn her eyes, and Kougyoku turns away, blinking fast so he won’t see. “You always found a way before. Look, if you just don’t _care_ \--was En right? Was I just a way to get to him?”

 

God dammit, now she's _crying_.

 

Judal's pretty good at dealing with people--or at least he knows how to get what he wants out of them--but crying _girls_ … not so much. He wavers, mouth opening and shutting as he sort of half-reaches out a hand before drawing it back. "Gyoku… geez, quit it already, a lot's been going on, okay?" he mutters, hesitating a moment longer before he reaches out again to touch her shoulder. "I didn't think they'd _let_ you'd come home. I can still take you ice skating and stuff, don't worry."

 

Kougyoku turns in an instant, burying her face in the oversized shirt and latching onto him, arms wrapped firmly around his slender frame. “Promise? You’ll--oh my god, is this his? It….” It does _not_ smell good enough to make her blush, she tells herself. That’s just from being around Judal, who always knows how to do that.

 

"Uhh… maybe?" Only _Kougyoku_ could make him sound sheepish over wearing his _boyfriend's_ goddamn shirt. "Ugh, whatever, just come in," Judal mutters, grabbing at her and hauling her inside before she can protest. "I'm home alone right now, anyway. You woke me up."

 

Kougyoku squeaks a bit, looking around the sumptuous place, holding tight to Judal so she can still pretend she hadn’t _meant_ to come in, he’d just _pulled_ her there. “It’s huge,” she murmurs, wide-eyed. “And it looks….not like he’s as rich as us, but….it looks really _comfortable_. Wow, that’s a _big_ tv!” And coming from a family that can buy and sell private islands, that’s saying something.

 

"Yeah, try playing games on it--it's fucking awesome," Judal sighs happily, letting her cling to him even as he drifts further inside. Ahh, hungry. Being woken up so abruptly always makes him hungry. He makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a peach and sinking his teeth into it immediately. "You're not allowed to get mad at me for grabbing a rich boyfriend," he says around his mouthful, chewing and swallowing in short order. "Who just also happens to be my boss. It's a pretty sweet gig." 

 

“Is--” Kougyoku swallows hard, blinking up at him. “Is he really your boyfriend? En said he was your new boss, and Ha said he was your sugar daddy, and Mei said he was a creepy molester guy.” She hops up onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, muttering, “I was worried.”

 

Judal rolls his eyes, climbing up onto a stool next to her. "Of course he's my boyfriend. Sin's not _creepy_ , he's actually really hot. Look, here," he says, grabbing for his phone previously discarded on the kitchen counter the night prior, and flipping to a photo album before thrusting it into her hands. "He's hot. And nice. And takes care of me, so sure, call him my sugar daddy if you want, but he's not _molesting_ me. And I work still, so it's not like I'm staying here for free." _And he's also getting me off the drugs your brother got me hooked on, so beat that._

 

Kougyoku looks, where Judal points. Then looks. And looks. Then she flips through all the photos slowly, eyes widening, cheeks growing pinker with every click, and goes through all of them again. “Oh,” she says, voice very small. “He looks….nice.”

 

"Told you. That was when he took me to the beach the other week." Judal grins, taking another bite of his peach. "You're getting really red."

 

“I’m looking at pictures of a hot beach!” Kougyoku says quickly, far too defensively for how lame the words sound once they’re out of her mouth. “And you shouldn’t just eat peaches all day, I’m going to cook for you, so sit down.”

 

"… You're looking at pictures of a hot _guy_ ," Judal teases, flopping partially forward over the counter. "Two hot guys. I'm in some of those. And what are you talking about? You can't _cook_." 

 

“I can so cook! Now,” Kougyoku adds with a huff. “That school En sent me to had really old-fashioned classes, like they were prepping us to be some media mogul’s pretty trophy wives. Totally creepy. All the other girls were really into it, though.” She casts Judal a sideways glance. “You never wore a thong when we went to the beach.”

 

"Neither did you. Damn shame." He finishes off his peach with another bite, tossing the pit into the trash. "And god, that's really creepy. Maybe I can kidnap you and you can stay here or something."

 

The tips of Kougyoku’s ears flush. “I’m lucky En even let me out today, you know,” she mutters, grabbing a box of leftover chinese food and dumping it into a frying pan, followed by a hastily chopped onion to prove she’s changed it. “He was really out of it, I think he’s got the flu or something.”

 

 _Or he's high as a kite_ , Judal thinks irritably. It's actually a little worrisome--maybe Gyokuen's gone full-creepy on Kouen in his absence. It isn't like he wishes anything _bad_ on the man, after all… "Also, that's not cooking, that's _modifying_. If you burn down his kitchen, Sinbad's gonna get cranky."

 

“I’m not going to burn it down, stupid! I’d make something better but you never eat anything good, so I’m making you crap!” Wow, this crap smells _really_ good, she’s Chinese and never gets that kind of Chinese. Sinbad must order his takeout from somewhere heavenly.

 

"Fine, fine. At least you're cute when you're 'cooking'," Judal sighs out, leaning forward onto his arms to watch her. "Just need to add a frilly pink apron and nothing else…" 

 

Kougyoku’s cheeks flame, and she squeezes her thighs together as a shiver goes up her spine. She can feel her nipples hardening against her blouse just at those words, and she turns away to watch over the pan. “You shouldn’t say things like that anymore. You have a boyfriend now.”

 

Judal's eyes roll. "Please. You think we're mutually exclusive? He runs a--uh… he's got a modeling agency." Ahh, if there's one thing that's always been _awkward_ , it's that Kougyoku has been kept so damnably naive. Maybe it's for the better. She's not so damaged because of it. "Pretty girls and guys running around day in and day out--and he's _definitely_ got a thing for his secretary." He drifts around the counter, grinning as he leans close to her from behind. "So I can say whatever I want."

 

It’s been a long time since anyone’s managed to steal her breath quite the way Judal does--honestly, no one ever has. Her hand trembles on the spatula, and her eyes slide halfway shut as she slowly, deliberately takes one tiny step back, pressing against the long line of his body. “You’re gonna get me in trouble again. Please.”

 

He's going to get _both_ of them in trouble, at this rate. 

 

Too bad his mind tends to click off when it comes to sex. That's probably stupidly masculine of him, but oh well. Kougyoku's an especially bad example of that, especially because she _is_ so little and cute and has the best, most vivid reactions to things… just like this, when she's trying so hard to focus on something and can't _help_ it. Judal sucks in a slow breath, sliding an arm around her waist to let his fingers splay over her stomach, idly plucking at the fabric of her blouse. "If no one _knows_ , you can't get into trouble," he mutters. "You're gonna burn yourself, turn the damned stove off." 

 

“B-but I’m cooking,” Kougyoku half-whispers, but he’s _touching_ her, and ah, she’s almost forgotten what it’s like to be touched by someone who likes her. It had been so sparkling in her mind, so wild and free and unexpected, their brief tryst last year, and it’s been months of long, lonely nights that she’s laid in her bed, touching herself desperately and wondering why it _never feels like him_. She shuts off the stove, hands coming to curl against his arm, and pushes them both back. “Y-you’re not going to--not in the _kitchen_ , are you?” she squeaks.

 

"You can cook later." Judal grabs her around the waist a bit tighter, grinning as he hauls her away from the stove. It's _nice_ , actually, grabbing hold of someone tinier than he is for a change, someone that fits in _his_ arms, and he tilts his head, pressing a wet kiss to the side of her neck. "And no, not in the kitchen. There's a reeeeally nice big bed, that's a lot more appropriate for a 'welcome home' present, right?"

 

It’s difficult, impossible not to _squirm_ , and Kougyoku doesn’t even try. It _burns_ low in her belly, and she can already feel how wet she is just from one wicked kiss to her neck. “Y-yeah,” she breathes, turning to try and kiss him properly, wrapping her arms around his neck and jumping up, wrapping her legs around his waist so he’ll have to pick her up or fall. “Your boyfriend isn’t gonna mind? I--I don’t mind the couch…” Or the floor, or the fucking balcony as long as it’s with Judal.

 

Judal catches her with a grunt of effort, huffing out a breath as he loops his arms around her waist before giving up and holding her more securely with his hands grabbing a firm hold of her ass. "He'd think it was hot." _I_ hope _he'd think it was hot._ "You got heavier," he idly notes as he presses a kiss to her lips and makes his way to the bedroom. "But you're not as squishy. Are you still working out until you keel over?" Dumping her onto the bed is more fun than he thought it would be, especially when Kougyoku looks so flustered, and Judal grins, looming over her with his hands planted to either side of her head. "Sex burns more calories than you'd think, you know. You should do _that_ more often."

 

A squeal comes from Kougyoku’s mouth before she can clamp her hand over it, and her eyes are wide and eager as she looks up at Judal. She _is_ probably working out too much, but it’s so easy, and…. “En still says I’m too fat to model for him.” She bites her lip, looking down at her body, feeling oddly adult at seeing a _man’s_ body looming over her own, and shivers. “You still think I look okay, right?”

 

"… You don't have an ounce of fat on you," Judal manages, and gives her hip a pinch to prove it as he wriggles between her thighs. Well--except maybe _here_ , where she's still _soft_ , and his breath hitches at the way her skirt already rides up, concealing very, very little. "You look better than okay," he murmurs, leaning down to press another kiss to the corner of her mouth, one hand sliding up the inside of a thigh, thumbing the hem of her skirt before slipping up higher. His fingers hook underneath the edge of her panties-- _lace_ , he can tell even without looking, and damn, that's cute. "He's just saying that because he doesn't want his little sister being ogled. Can't blame him."

 

“Ju--” Her voice is high, desperate, and Kougyoku tangles her hands in his hair, legs trembling as she slowly spreads them. She can almost feel him in her already, she’s _imagined_ it, _remembered_ it so many times, and it’s hard to catch her breath when she _wants_ so badly. “Ju--your mouth, I want it, please--” Her hands aren’t as polite as her words, using every bit of muscle to sort of force his head down between her thighs.

 

He’d done that last time, after all. That means it’s okay.

 

Whatever button he's pushed, Judal _likes it_.

 

It took a lot longer to get Kougyoku to this point last time, a lot more convincing and a lot more poking and prodding. Now, though, it's _easy_ and she's _eager_ and that makes him wriggle down without any protest, his fingers shoving up her skirt as he presses a sloppy kiss to the inside of one thigh. He can smell her already, see how wet she is through thin, pale cotton, and Judal doesn't wait to bury his face between her thighs, mouthing her first through those _cute_ panties, groaning low in his throat at the heat and just the _beginnings_ of the taste of her on his tongue before hooking shaky fingers into the material to tug it down, pressing a proper, eagerly tasting kiss.

 

It’s so good, the first moment, that Kougyoku kicks him a little. “Sorry!” she gasps, panting hard as her fingers twist in the sheets, and she lets out a high, breathy groan. “S-sorry, it’s--ahhhhh--”

 

It’s _obscene_ , and far better than she’d remembered, and every swipe of Judal’s tongue makes her burn from hair to toes, wriggling and squirming in delight. Her hands come up, squeezing, playing with her own breasts, pinching and rolling the nipples to make those little shocks _harder_ , brighter and more intense as Judal works her with his mouth.

 

Judal swallows a laugh as he licks a messy, wet stripe up her slit, nuzzling up to suck on the throbbing nub of her clit and liking the way it makes her heave and twitch, his fingers sliding to her thighs to keep them from squeezing too tight around his head. "Does _no one_ treat you right when I'm not around?" he breathes, another kiss and lap of his tongue making him groan. God, she's _wet_. There's no helping the eager way that he tips his head to better slide his tongue _inside her_ , not when she bucks down and rides his face like she's going to _die_ if she doesn't feel more. 

 

“Stupid,” she whispers, with no more conviction behind it than she ever has. “Like I’d l-let anyone else t-touch me like--ohh, like that!”

 

She fists a hand in his hair, winding around the thick dark strands and bucking up desperately, voice coming out in a high-pitched whine when she feels his tongue slide _in_ , just the knowledge that _Judal’s tongue is inside me_ making her thrash and shudder.

 

Judal groans, his hands sliding up her thighs to grab blindly at her hips, eagerly hauling her down as he licks her from the inside, his own breath ragged as she grinds down against his face. The taste of her on his tongue is hardly _fair_ , the little squeaks and moans and whines from her throat even better, and his own cock throbs, making him squirm as he drags his tongue up, fastens his lips to her clit again when she twitches upward and pulls on his hair all the more. _Good, no one else should be_ allowed _to touch you, anyway._

 

Dimly, somewhere deep inside where Kougyoku remembers the proper little sister En wants, she’s embarrassed, ashamed of the way she’s acting.

 

But right now, all she can do is grab Judal’s hair and ride his face, breath coming in quick staccato yelps as she does. His tongue is sinfully good, the noises he’s making between her thighs somehow even better, and then he _sucks_ on her clit. 

 

It’s an odd noise she lets out, a whining moan turned into shivering, helpless breaths when she comes, hips trembling pathetically and every part of her flushed and aching and gasping for _more_. She doesn’t waste a second, grabbing at him and babbling, “In, in, hurry--”

 

"F-fuck, Gyoku, just--" God, _he's_ out of breath, too, barely having a chance to wipe his mouth before she's hauling him up, still shuddering and twitching underneath him, and Judal huffs out a hot breath, mouthing a kiss to her shoulder as he claws open a drawer in the nightstand. Fucking _condoms_. He just wants to _feel_ her, every slick, hot bit of her, and he's scowling as he rips the package open, hands shaking as he rolls it down his cock. 

 

Just touching himself, even like that, is almost too much. Judal shuts his eyes briefly, a hand shoving at her thighs as another squeezes at the base of his cock. Even after all that, she's still _tight_ , and guiding himself inside, just getting the head in, it all takes _effort_. It makes him bite his lip at the sight of his cock finally sinking inside as she clenches down around him, and Judal knows he's a little too fast about it as his hips shove forward, sliding in as deep as he can and muffling a breathy, ragged groan into the crook of her shoulder.

 

All of Kougyoku’s breath leaves her lungs with the first press inside, coming out in a little “yeep!” of surprise. She braces her hands on his shoulders, sliding down to closed fists pressing against his chest, shoving at him a little though she doesn’t _mean_ to, as her whole body clenches and trembles at every press of his cock.

 

“You’re--” She can’t even talk.

 

“Ju--” She can’t even _think_. 

 

She’s taken him once before, she reminds herself, gulping for air, and this isn’t nearly as bad as that. She had bled, then, and now it feels about eighty percent _good_ , with very little pain to hide, and after she manages to relax a bit, it gets even _better_.

 

"Sorry, sorry," he mutters, turning his head to press a wet, sucking kiss to the side of her neck when he manages to make his eyes uncross for a second, manages to make his own breathing calm the fuck _down_. It doesn't make Kougyoku any less tight around him, any less a shivery, hot thing that he just wants to _fuck_ because she feels so good, but Judal manages to stop himself from just rutting down like an animal.

 

Barely.

 

"You're just… you're so _tiny_ ," Judal breathes out as he sits back slightly, his hands splaying over her waist to pull her closer with a firm squeeze, rolling his hips forward with a slow, careful grind. He slides one hand up to her chest, thumb dragging over a hard nipple before pinching lightly. "And you make the cutest noises…"

 

“Do _not_ \--” Kougyoku near-yelps, thrashing uncontrollably when he _pinches_ , feeling another rush of _wet_ between her thighs, and everything moves a bit easier, slicker after that. It’s too good, and her balled fists uncurl, leaving scratches down Judal’s chest, light at first, harder down his back when she _grabs_ him, pulls him in closer, wanting _more_. “Don’t stop, okay? I really do want it.”

 

There are many times she hates having a little girl’s voice. This is by far the worst offender, no matter that Judal, at least, never treats her that way.

 

"Couldn't stop if you wanted to, sorry," he admits with a ragged laugh, butting his head underneath her chin to bite lightly at her throat as his hips grind forward harder, the obscene, wet _slap_ of their bodies together making him shudder. "You feel how hard I am inside you, right?" Judal breathes, giving her waist another squeeze as he pulls her down, shoving up as he does, breath hitching at the _twinge_ of her around him when he slides in so deep. "Dunno… how anyone keeps their hands off of you… Claw at me more, tell me you like it when I fuck you." 

 

“How could I _not_ feel it?” Kougyoku groans, back arching up off the bed. “You’re in me!”

 

Saying it makes her shudder, and she rakes a hand down Judal’s back, batting his hair out of the way so she can dig her nails in harder, liking the way the drag of her nails makes his breath come fast.

 

“Do it harder,” she finally says, almost too quiet to be heard. “Just--it feels really good, do it _more_ , I’m not a little girl, I can take it!”

 

God, she hopes she can.

 

Kougyoku even _begs_ cutely.

 

Judal snorts, and he tips his head down, an affectionate _bite_ to the curve of one of her breasts following as he thrusts up _hard_ , shoving her down into the mattress with the eager roll of his hips. "Like that, _princess?_ " he teasingly breathes out, sucking a nipple into his mouth as he thrusts up again before she can answer, everything so slick that it's _easy_. His cock throbs, the aching heat of it all enough to make him shudder anew, and damn, he's not going to last long enough to fuck her like he really wants to. _Whatever, we've got the whole rest of the day, too_. "Just--ahhh, god, the walls here are thick, you can make all the--noises--and stuff--you want--"

 

Maybe he's a _little_ too rough with her, but she _asked_ for it, and it's been so long that he can't help it. Judal holds her tight as he slides in deep and hard, eyes flickering down again to where they're connected, and that sight alone, of his cock sinking in as deep as he can again and again is what makes him lose control, his fingers leaving bruises for sure as he grabs her tight and comes hard, back arched in a tight, trembling bow. 

 

If Kougyoku had thought it was difficult to breathe before, that’s _nothing_ compared to the way she feels now.

 

She’s left shaking and writhing under Judal’s body, pliant and bending wherever he sort of puts her, clutching him as he slams deep inside her in a way that’s certainly got an edge of _uncomfortable_ to it, but damned if she minds. It’s enough just to know that Judal’s _inside_ her, she’s just made Judal come, and if he weren’t wearing a condom--

 

She’s not going to think about it.

 

It takes a while to get her breath back, and she clutches a little, even before she does. “You make nice noises too,” she says a little shyly.

 

"You're gonna kill me," he sighs out, sounding all too pleased about it as he sags down, pressing a slow kiss to her lips before carefully pulling out and rolling to the side with a groan. Judal reaches down to shakily roll the condom off, tossing it into the nearby wastebasket before he lets himself flop back entirely. "Definitely kidnapping you. Get used to the idea."

 

 _Get used to being arrested_ , she wants to say--but really, she doesn’t. She snuggles into his chest, a secret, womanly (she hopes) smile on her lips. “Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

~11 years earlier~~

 

 

There’s no such thing as _just another day_ anymore.

 

There hasn’t been since Rashid had snatched him off the streets--or, more accurately, caught him with his hand on the man’s safe, but that’s all the same to Sinbad. Now, there is no routine, no adjusting, and he finds he _likes_ it this way. 

 

Just because he’s not going back to his old ways doesn’t mean he’s _forgotten_ them, and Sinbad slips silently out of the studio at the end of the day, avoiding Rashid’s request to go home together. There are limits to how much time he wants to spend feeling like a _pet_ , after all.

 

So it’s down the fire escape and onto the street, and Sinbad lands lightly in the alleyway, spirits already lifted. There’s that urge to _go_ , to ignore everything he’d planned on, everything he’d promised and _flee_ , and maybe he will--

 

Just for a week or so. Rashid will trust him to come back. Or he’ll set the cops on his trail, that’s a possibility too.

 

The first tripwire is somehow missed, stepped over courtesy of Sinbad's long strides, and his stalker is suitably annoyed by it all. 

 

It calls for a much less subtle approach the second time around--a veritable noose of wire this time, caught about the man's (teenager's, really) ankle and in one, sharp yank, sending him face first onto the concrete of the alleyway. The setting sun, quickly turning to night, is all a perfect cover, and a booted foot shoves a less-than-sizable weight down onto Sinbad's shoulder from behind, the click of a gun against the back of his head following in short order. 

 

"Is there anything you would like me to tell your master before I kill him next?" The question is a quiet one, the words cut notably with a Russian accent.

 

Well.

 

Sinbad can’t say this is an _expected_ turn for the day to take.

 

“You know, it’s not my first time facedown in an alley like this,” he remarks, thinking fast. At least, he _attempts_ to think, as well as he can when there’s some tiny Russian assassin sitting on him with a gun pressed against his head. Carefully, without wriggling his body, he toes off his boot, holding it lightly between his toes. “And tell him I don’t have a _master_.”

 

He kicks hard, sending the shoe flying at the attacker’s head (he hopes) as he rolls, aiming for his feet.

 

A growl of irritation is about as much as Sinbad gets as a result, and the assassin _yanks_ on the wire again, reeling Sinbad in with surprising strength. "You're certain," he grunts, and it's his knee directly into Sinbad's sternum that follows as he looms over Sinbad in a crouch with all five feet of his height, chest heaving a bit from the effort to get his gun underneath Sinbad's chin, "that's all you want to say?" The safety clicks off. 

 

Sinbad blinks. “You’re _tiny_.” 

 

Then he’s got the knife from his thrown boot, flicked out with a single fluid motion, and tiny or not, fast or not, strong or not, he doubts the kid is proof against a knife under his chin. A corner of his mouth twitches up, and his eyes flash. “Who do you think is faster?”

 

A pair of oddly golden eyes narrow, and with little hesitation, the gun changes positions--pressed instead to Sinbad's shoulder, wherein calmly, the trigger is pulled. 

 

It would be a lie to say Sinbad had been _expecting_ that. 

 

The blast sends a shock of pain coursing through his system, wiping out any chance he had of _thought_ , and his body convulses, a scream going through him, knife digging into the kid’s neck, though he stops it just in time to keep it from going _through_. He lays back, panting, eyes pricking with tears he won’t let them shed, and bares his teeth. “Damn. You’re a cold little shit, aren’t you?” he pants, grinning up through the pain.

 

"Drop the knife, and I'll put you out of your misery." Why his target has to be so _noisy_ about it is beyond him. Truth be told, though, he didn't exactly expect this much of a _struggle_. His head jerks up at the sound of doors slamming--and with a jerk and a curse, he wrenches himself away from Sinbad. Never mind that he belatedly realizes the sound is from across the damned street; the job is ruined at this point, anyway.

 

Sinbad thinks faster than he would have given himself credit for--maybe he’s kinda good at this kind of thing after all--and grabs the kid’s own wire, tossing the loop out and around his neck in what he has to admit is a _hell_ of a lucky throw.

 

In an instant, the assassin whirls, hissing, snarling, feral even before the noose has tightened, digging a hand into the gunshot wound on Sinbad's shoulder very much on _purpose._ "If you want to die so badly still, that can be _arranged_."

 

Oddly enough, the pain lights Sinbad’s body up like fireworks, sending adrenaline like he’s never felt before coursing through his body, and he lifts the boy by the throat, slamming him against the wall, eyes blazing. “Who sent you? Why are you going after me? I’ve never even _met_ a Russian except Big Vlad, and he liked me a _lot_!”

 

The boy sneers, reeling back just enough to spit in Sinbad's face. "You think the _Russians_ are after your master? Small wonder he keeps you as a pet, you must make a very good vapid trophy."

 

Sinbad glares, then spits right back, aiming for the eyes but sort of hitting the kid in the mouth, which he feels the need to apologize for (and quells that quickly). “I only said Russians because that’s how you talk! But unless you want me to drag your ass to the cops, start talking.”

 

One last, put out look is settled upon Sinbad before the kid squirms, abandons his gun, and shoves his hand down into his own pocket instead, pulls out a pill that he downs back dry. 

 

Sinbad’s eyes narrow, and all he can think is that if _I don’t find out who he is, anyone could come for me._ He grabs the kid’s jaw, forces it open, and shoves two fingers deep down his throat, praying, _don’t be as good at this as I am..._

 

Really, he _tries_ not to gag, but having a gag reflex is sort of _important_ for his career. It isn't as if most of his targets try to keep him from killing himself, anyway--

 

Coughing, reeling back to keep some distance and _try_ not to toss up the contents of his stomach, he bites down onto Sinbad's fingers--and _hard_. 

 

Sinbad snarls, and mutters, “ _Fine_!”

 

He wriggles his fingers down the boy’s throat, and brings up a knee hard into his stomach, driving him back into the wall. “Throw it up, asshole!”

 

Well, there's no helping with something like that, no matter how he tries not to. If anything, it's a conditioned response, and the next dry heave of his stomach brings the poison back up, leaving him to weakly shudder and glare up at Sinbad with eyes even icier than before as he wrenches his head to the side. "Not," he rasps out, "going to tell you _anything_." 

 

Sinbad tosses the pill to the ground, and his expression softens, even if his hand stays as hard as ever on the boy’s throat. God, it’s been a long time since he’d said those same words to Rashid, sprawled on the ground and looking down the barrel of a large pistol, aimed right at his head. 

 

He looks the kid up and down, and pulls an energy bar out of his pocket, undoing the wrapper with his teeth and shoving the end of it inside. “Eat that,” he says firmly.

 

Another growl, and the boy makes no attempts to obey, save to bite the end of it off, spit it aside, and huddle back against the wall as much as he can, no matter the hand pinning him there. He should have shot himself, that would have been quicker, but there's always a _chance_ to recover from poison and finish the job properly. 

 

Sinbad narrows his eyes. “That’s not poison. It’s an energy bar. And it’s _good_.” He takes a bite himself to prove it, then tosses the boy over his shoulder. “Fine. I’m kidnapping you.”

 

"W-what--" Sinbad is surprisingly strong for someone he so easily knocked over before, and no matter how he kicks and squirms and struggles, it seems to do little good. "I'm--put me down, I'm not ever going to tell you anything, I'll kill myself first!" 

 

“Good, I don’t want to hear anything.” Sinbad fetches a sharp slap to the boy’s rear, almost blacks out at the pain in his own arm, and lurches against the wall. “You should shut up, or someone will hear you. Then the cops will come and investigate. Or….or I could take you to Rashid.”

 

"I'll stab you in your shoulder," the boy snarls out, and twists around to make a grab for a knife that's undoubtedly strapped somewhere to his legs. "And you'll be on the ground again in about five seconds, wishing you were _dead_ \--"

 

“I already hurt a _lot_ , so quit squirming around!” Sinbad snarls. “We’re going to be out on the street in a second, so if you don’t hold still we’ll flag down someone who calls 911!”

 

"I'll scream," is the immediate, flat response, "that you're kidnapping me."

 

Sinbad grins. “Okay. Go ahead. Enjoy Child Protective Services, I hear they’re great this time of year.”

 

He seems rather unfazed by the idea. "And that you tried to rape me."

 

“And that there’s a gun with your fingerprints, and a hole in my shoulder. Is it licensed to you, by the way?”

 

"I'm 14, I believe in your country, that's considered _illegal_." The boy twists around, glaring at him. "Do you really think they're going to believe someone like you over someone like _me?_ "

 

“I have a disarming smile!” Sinbad counters. “You’re unpleasant and creepy!”

 

"I can cry on command."

 

“I can do almost any bodily function on command, beat that.”

 

"… That's disgusting." 

 

“Says the kid who threw up on my hand.”

 

"You shoved your hand down my throat!" A snarl, and the boy twists around again, drawing his knee up to kick Sinbad in the side of the head. "Now put me down!"

 

Sinbad’s mind reels, and he tightens his hold, holding the kid’s legs down. “I’m going to cut off your feet if you don’t _knock it off._ Why do you want to kill me, anyway? I’m so lovable!”

 

"I don't give a damn what you are, it was an _assignment_." He gnashes his teeth together, reaching a hand 'round to grab Sinbad's ponytail instead and _yank_. 

 

“OW! You little _brat!_ ”

 

Sinbad turns quickly, knocking the kid against the wall, though not hard enough to knock him out. “I just saved your life, be more grateful!”

 

"You're the reason I had to take that pill! Failure isn't an option!" His head spins, but his fingers tighten into Sinbad's hair all the more. "Let me go or I'll rip the hair from your head, just _wait_." 

 

“Failure is _always_ an option! Failure is sometimes a great option! And if you rip my hair out, I’m going to give you a cut for every single strand of hair!”

 

"Do it, I don't care! Maybe I'll bleed out and die like I was supposed to!" Even still, his fingers shake a bit, no matter how they refuse to loosen. "Put me _down_." 

 

“Stop holding my hair hostage!” Sinbad snaps. “My hair didn’t do anything to you!”

 

"It's your fault, it's really long and asking for it!"

 

Sinbad snarls, and dumps the kid on his feet, holding him around the neck again. “I didn’t fucking _ask_ for anything! You _shot_ me! Why’d they send a fucking _kid_ anyway, they should have known someone as small as you couldn’t do it!”

 

Calmly, and without pretense, the boy reaches up, grabs Sinbad by his wounded shoulder, uses that hold as leverage to hold him into place, and slams his knee quite solidly into Sinbad's stomach. 

 

Sinbad almost blacks out from the pain, dropping down to one knee, hand squeezing tighter than he intends around the boy’s neck, dragging him down too. “You,” he wheezes through the pain, “should be embarrassed, I bet you have a bunch of training and shit and I’m just an actor, and I still beat you.”

 

"I--" _All the more reason I should have died._ Damn, but Sinbad's stronger than he looks, and that makes him _angry_. Thrashing gets him nowhere, especially when Sinbad is intent on holding tight to his neck, and so eventually, the boy gives up with a heavy, ragged heave of breath. Fine. He'll wait. _Then_ he'll kill himself, when he isn't being held onto like the spoils of victory. 

 

Sinbad nods decisively, and tries not to black out as he stands, his shoulder feeling worse and worse with every heartbeat. “Okay. Cool. Come on,” he adds, as if he’s not dragging the kid with him by the neck. “If I’m gonna hide you from Rashid, you have to shut up, okay?”

 

 _Why would you want to hide me in the first place?_ is the question he bites back, but he jerks his head in a semblance of a response. Just stick to his training, that's key. Not a word needs to be said from now on. 

 

Sinbad does toss the kid over his shoulder when he climbs, shoulder _screaming_ even if he avoids using it, up through fire escapes to get to the attic. There’s a cot already set up, and snack foods, and a fuzzy 12” TV screen in one corner. Sinbad dumps the kid on the bed, then strips off his shirt, checking out the damage in a nearby mirror. “Yeah, no way I’m gonna be able to hide that,” he says moodily, more horrified at the look of the wound than the pain. “At least you used a small caliber. You can eat, if you want.”

 

Rather than do that, the boy quickly finds a corner of the room to curl himself up into, knees drawn to his chest and eyes peering up over them as he makes himself as small as possible--and as unmoving, which becomes more apparent by the minute. 

 

Sinbad stares at the little ball of boy, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do. Rashid won’t even let him have a goldfish, he really doubts the man will let him have a pet _assassin_. He has a feeling, too, that if he leaves the kid in anything less than a jail cell, he’ll walk right out, and he can’t be babysitting the whole time.

 

So, fine.

 

He sits down on the edge of the cot. “I’m leaving,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry I brought you up here. Door will be open, window too.”

 

The boy blinks back at him, but only for a second before huddling into a smaller, tighter ball. "… I can't really go back _now_." 

 

Sinbad winces. “Can’t go back without killing me? Sorry. If you want, I can give you a count of ten after I leave, and you can try again?” God, he hopes that sounds like the joke it’s supposed to be.

 

A wary stare follows those words. "You're serious?" 

 

“Uh...no.” Sinbad shifts uncomfortably. “I mean, I can’t stop you from trying, but I don’t want you to kill me, no.”

 

"Oh." He sinks back again. "Then I definitely can't go back. You should have let me kill myself."

 

Sinbad shrugs. “Then don’t go back. Stay here. As long as you want, I don’t mind.”

 

"… I just tried to _kill you_." _And I probably will again. And your master, too._

 

Sinbad stares at the kid. “So? What am I gonna do, kill you? I’m not that kind of guy.”

 

"Should have let me kill myself," he repeats without batting an eye.

 

Sinbad almost tosses the kid a knife and tells him to _have at_ , but some part of him that isn’t cold yet stops him. He sits on the cot, tucks his feet up under his body, and asks, “Why do you wanna be the kind of guy who kills guys like me?”

 

A short shrug follows. "It's my job." 

 

“So get a new job. There are lots of them. You could be a barista, or a garbage man!”

 

Those odd, golden eyes stare back at him, unwavering. "I've done this job for as long as I can remember."

 

“Uh huh.” Sinbad stares, a little confused. “So?”

 

"So I have to keep doing it." 

 

“Uh….why?” Sinbad stares at the kid. “You’re like twelve. Do something else.”

 

"Fourteen," is the irritable correction. "I'm fourteen. This is what I _have_ to do."

 

“What you have to…” Sinbad trails off, shaking his head. “You should be in like, ninth grade. And you don’t _have_ to do shit, I ran away when I was your age. Besides, if they’re not gonna take you back unless you kill me, and I’m not gonna let you kill me, then you _can’t_ go back, right? So you can’t do the thing you say you have to do, so you might as well do something else.” _God damn, I am good._

 

The kid stares back at him for a long moment, attempting to piece together the relative amounts of nonsense spewing from Sinbad's mouth. At least, it's nonsense to _him_. "…  But they _own_ me." He shouldn't be saying this. Panic ripples down his spine and he spares a wary glance at one of the windows, contemplating his escape before he can keep talking. "They'll… if I'm not dead, they'll find me, and then I will wish I _was_." 

 

“Bullshit. Free country, no one owns you.” Sinbad pulls a candy bar off a shelf, grimacing at the pain in his shoulder, and breaks it in half, tossing half to the kid. “Tell you what, why don’t you stick with me? Then if someone ever comes after you, at least there’s two of us, and if you ever think it’s a better idea to kill me, then hey, I’m right there! That’s convenient, right?”

 

"I'm not from this country." He doesn't bother catching the candy, and curls up into a smaller ball. "Neither are they. You're an idiot, they're just going to send someone else to kill you."

 

Sinbad frowns, picks up the candy and throws it again, hitting the kid in the shoulder. Then he picks it up again and starts breaking it into smaller pieces, trying to hit the kid’s mouth. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now. That’s how people _get_ free, that’s why everyone wants to come here. Who are they, anyway? I haven’t done anything but suck a lot of guys off, do your bosses really hate homos or something?”

 

A growl, and he curls himself up to half-cover his face with his knees, glaring over at Sinbad. "It would make your master mad to see you die. They don't like him. He's going to die, too."

 

“Gross, he’s not my _master_.” Sinbad makes a face, and hits the kid in the head with a chocolate, popping another one into his mouth and chewing loudly. “He’s more like my sugar daddy, or my boss or something. Is this seriously about Rashid? He’s just a porn dude, are they extremists who hate porn? Ooh, is it a Christian fundie cult? I saw a movie about those on tv.”

 

"… You obviously know nothing about him, and that's probably for the better," the boy mutters, reaching up a hand to pick the chocolate from his hair, eyeballing it, and then tentatively taking a bite. "I'm not telling you anything about the organization."

 

Sinbad shrugs. “Whatever. I’m gonna go get the first aid kit from the bathroom downstairs, I’ll be right back. Run away or whatever if you want,” he adds over his good shoulder, before disappearing down the staircase.

 

Far better right then is the idea of just curling up into a ball and never waking up. Wrapping himself up into his cloak, the boy huddles down, only a pair of eyes peeking out by the time he's done. 

 

Sinbad doesn’t _mean_ to be gone more than five minutes.

 

He also doesn’t _mean_ for Rashid’s mistress to catch him grabbing the first aid kit, to see his shoulder and demand that he go to the doctor, threatening to call the boss herself if he doesn’t.

 

It takes hours, and a _lot_ of uncomfortable questions (“Yes, I’m sure I didn’t see the shooter! It was dark, he got mad when I didn’t have any money! I don’t know, maybe six and a half feet tall?”)  before they let him leave the hospital, loopy on pain meds and with his shoulder securely bandaged up. Anise, bless her soul, at least agrees to let him tell Rashid on his own terms, and after the weekend’s over.

 

Probably ten hours have passed since he’d left when Sinbad finally gets the time to crawl back in through that window to his little lair, pleasantly pleased (and stumbling with a giggle) to see the kid still there. “Hey! You didn’t run away! ‘M’sorry, they made me to t’the doctor, I have pills!!”

 

The kid jolts awake, eyes peering out from the cloak that he's still bundled up in. He doesn't remember falling asleep--careless, _stupid_ \--but judging by the light outside, it really has been awhile. There's definitely no way he can go back now, not after so _long_. "… Good for you," he mumbles, huddling backwards and pulling his cloak down over his head. Maybe, if he sits here long enough without moving, he can starve himself to death.

 

“They gave me orange juice too!” Sinbad vaguely thinks that he shouldn’t be so _delighted_ by the prospect, but he ignores that, grabbing a bottle of orange juice out of his backpack and shoving it at the kid, along with a tiny rattling bottle. “Here, stole you some pills too. I hurt you, take ‘em.”

 

"I don't need them." He shrinks back a fraction more. "Leave me alone, you're really annoying."

 

Sinbad sinks heavily onto the bed. “Not in the mood to fight,” he says with a huff, and stretches out, flopping on top of the kid. “Good night.”

 

"Don't--not _on_ me, what's _wrong_ with you?!" Ugh, Sinbad is _heavy_. It doesn't help that he himself is tired, and shaky, and _hungry_ , and with those thoughts, the last bit of effort he wants to exude to make Sinbad go away disappears. Maybe Sinbad will crush him in his sleep or something. 

 

“Noisy,” is Sinbad’s last complaint, and he tucks the kid--should find out his name later, he thinks vaguely--up to his chest like a teddy bear before promptly falling unconscious.

 

Oddly enough, even though he definitely, absolutely shouldn't, the boy sleeps.

 

Sinbad is warm, and that's _strange_. He doesn't tend to sleep in warm, comfortable places--it makes him sleep too deeply, and that's not safe. Here, though, he doesn't have a choice, not when Sinbad is squeezing him like a stuffed animal, something that doesn't help his aching joints, but it forces him to lie still and rest all the same. 

 

If Sinbad had just let him die, that would have been easier.

 

Those are the thoughts he wakes to hours and hours later, still shaky, still _hungry_ , with his face wet and the urge to get away and just die already increased tenfold. 

 

Sinbad wakes to a shaking, squirming, terrified child in his arms, and _pain_.

 

For a moment, as hazy as he is, he almost just _screams_ in confusion and panic, but a moment’s focus lets that pass, and he breathes slowly out. Slowly, not putting weight on his wounded shoulder, he sits up, and on impulse, kisses the boy’s cheek. “Hey. I’m glad you’re still here. You should let me feed you breakfast, okay?”

 

A firm shake of his head, and the boy turns his head away to shove it down into a pillow. "Just want to starve." The stupid rumbling of his stomach makes that sound less than convincing. 

 

Sinbad frowns, and runs a gentle hand over the bruises on the kid’s neck. He sits up, folding his legs under himself, and says slowly, “I don’t know your situation, really, and I don’t know what you want to do with your life or whatever. But…until you have a better plan, how about you just stick with me and let me take care of you, and when you get a better plan, you can leave? Plus, I have pancakes.”

 

That _sounds_ ridiculous. A normal person would probably think it sounds _nice_ , but he knows better. Nothing ever is nice. They'll find him if he doesn't die first, and that's far more incentive to die than anything Sinbad could say to keep him _alive_. "You're an idiot," is his muffled retort, shivering in spite of himself. "And what the hell is a pancake and why should I care?"

 

“You should care because they’re _yummy_ ,” Sinbad says, eyes wide. He pops a pill from his little bottle, praying it starts to work fast, because shit, who knew gunshot wounds hurt so badly? “What do you like, sweet or savory for breakfast? I have blueberry syrup and I have butter. The pancakes are a couple days old, but Mrs. Fatima always saves me good ones, she’s Rashid’s housekeeper.”

 

Just _listening_ to Sinbad makes him tired. He shoves his head back down into a pillow all the more. Was he deliberately assigned a target like this, just so he'd die? The thought makes him shiver, panicky in spite of himself. What did he do wrong? He didn't _deserve_ this, did he? Not that it should matter, he should be ready to die at any time, but... "Just leave me alone, I'm not hungry."

 

Sinbad unwraps a foil package of a large stack of pancakes, ignoring the kid. “I’m always hungry. God, she does a really good job on these, Rashid’s kids love ‘em. Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” he asks, dropping the pancakes onto a plate and shoving it into the microwave.

 

There's a long, wary silence before he finally, slowly provides: "They call me Ja'far."

 

“Huh. I’d have pegged you for an Alexi or a….I dunno, the only Russian I know is Big Vlad. You don’t look like a Ja’far.” Sinbad grabs the pancakes out of the microwave when it’s only halfway to beeping, impatient at the smell, and puts half of them on another plate, smothering both of them with syrup and sticking a plastic fork in the kid’s. “Here you go, Ja’far.”

 

Making no attempt to take the plate, Ja'far promptly rolls around, presenting Sinbad with his back. "Not hungry."

 

Sinbad stares for a second, then picks up the pancake, and flops it blueberry syrup side down onto the top of Ja’far’s head.

 

A slow twitch rolls through the boy's frame, but he otherwise doesn't move, simply letting it stay there. Maybe he'll get some nutrients through osmosis--no, no, he wants to die. No calories. 

 

Sinbad lets out a frustrated little noise, then flips the kid over onto his back, perching on top of his chest the way the boy had to him the day before, and stuffs a piece of pancake into his mouth. “Eat,” he orders. “Mrs. Fatima’s pancakes are good. And you’re sticky.”

 

No matter how he hisses, it's hard to suppress his body's urge to chew and swallow, and he's not particularly up for choking, anyway. "… Doesn't taste like anything," Ja'far mutters, squirming to try and wriggle away, no matter how much _bigger_ Sinbad is. "Get off, I told you I'm not hungry." 

 

“Wrong! It tastes like blueberries.” Sinbad peers down at the kid, and stuffs another bite into his mouth. “You should be nicer to me. You owe me, for shooting me, but that’s okay. I’ll accept your apology.”

 

This time, he tries to spit it back up--easier said than done, from this angle, and so he flops back with an annoyed huff, swallowing angrily. "I'm not apologizing. And _you're_ wrong, it doesn't taste like anything. Just leave me _alone_."

 

“But if I leave you alone, you’re going to starve to death,” Sinbad points out. “That would make me a murderer. I told you, I’m not like that.” He tips another bit of syrup right from the bottle into Ja’far’s mouth. Some of it goes in.

 

Ja'far hisses again, thrashing and getting a deliberate punch to Sinbad's shoulder in--all right, not directly to his shoulder, but to that _arm_ , close enough--which buys him enough time to wriggle away and huddle himself back into a ball. "Don't you have _work_ in another hour? Go do that." He's only had Sinbad's schedules memorized for _weeks_.

 

Sinbad grunts with pain, glaring down at the stupid ungrateful little ball of hate. “How the hell do you remember that? I barely remember that.”

 

"I've been stalking you." 

 

“Oh.” Sinbad grins. “You must be really good at it, I never even noticed you.” He rolls off the bed, tossing the rest of the pancakes onto the kid’s side. “Fine, I’m going to work. If you’re still here when I get back I’m taking it as consent to feed you again.”

 

"I'll bite your hands off."

 

“So leave.” Sinbad’s face falls. God, it’s _annoying_ being nice to someone that doesn’t appreciate it. “I’m not _keeping_ you here, you don’t need to act like I’m fucking mistreating you when all I did was try to help after you _shot_ me.”

 

"I _can't_ leave! Why won't you just let me die, then you can forget about me? I'm small, it's not like it would take much effort to toss my body out afterwards." The words definitely have a panicky edge to them now. "I _shot you_ , you should be mad at me and _want_ me to die."

 

“Well, tough, I don’t! All I want is for you to eat a fucking pancake then say thank you! And not shoot me again,” Sinbad amends. “That _really_ hurt. So I’m gonna go to work, and if you’re feeling better after, I’ll take you out for chicken or something, I have like twenty bucks stashed.”

 

Ja'far stares at him, trembling, before just shaking his head and balling himself up within his cloak again. "You're stupid _and_ weird." 

 

“You’re mean and tiny. And your clothes are really creepy.” Sinbad tries fussing with his hair, but it’s _hard_ with one hand effectively out of commission. “I’ll probably be back,” he amends. “If Rashid is mad at me for getting shot I’m not sure what’ll happen, so don’t freak out if it’s a while. Later.”

 

Ja'far loses track of time.

 

Unlike him, but when he's huddled in a ball, shaking and shivering and _fretting_ , there's nothing he can do for it. All he can think about is how the organization will be _angry_ , will want him dead, will think he's revealed all of their secrets and locations and who else they want dead and who else they're working with and so his punishment will be awful before he's killed--

 

At some point, he dozes off--or sort of does, as much as he can with how much he's shaking.

 

Sinbad's bed--cot, really, that's all it is--isn't very comfortable, but it's better than what he's used to, and Ja'far curls himself up against one of the pillows when he finally does sleep, everything too-cold no matter how he feels disgustingly soaked in sweat. Maybe he really is dying. That would be convenient. 

 

“Oy, kiddo! You miss me?”

 

Sinbad’s cheerful smile fades when he sees the boy, less bitter and cold, more shaking and really cold, except for where Sinbad brushes a hand over his forehead. “Jesus, you’re burning up! Uh….hold on a second, I think I have some aspirin, I think that’s what you take when you have a fever, right? Can you sit up a little?”

 

Ja'far stirs, cracking open his eyes before he slowly, automatically attempts to obey… before simply flopping back over again, too dizzy to bother with the effort. 

 

Shit.

 

At least Sinbad has the first aid kit, and grabs a thermometer out of the bottom, holding the kid’s mouth open long enough to take a read. 104...god, he wishes he could remember whether you had to go to the hospital at 101 or 105, but 104 sounds pretty high.

 

_If I go to the hospital, CPS will take him, and I don’t think that will be safe for anyone._

 

He’s seen the foster system up close--kids that need a whole lot of attention don’t always get it, or get it in the _way_ they need it. 

 

Besides, there would be the whole matter of _getting_ him there without causing a fuss.

 

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, helping Ja’far up into a sitting position, grunting as the motion pulls on his shoulder. “You’ll probably hate me for the next few days, but I’m gonna take care of you all the same.”

 

Ja'far blinks up at him, not quite seeing with hazy eyes, and his head lolls back as he sucks in a slow, unsteady breath. "Should just let me die," he mumbles, weakly lifting a hand to bat at Sinbad's chest. "Just wanna lie down and not do things anymore."

 

“You’re not going to _die_ , you big crybaby,” Sinbad says gently, tilting Ja’far’s head up to put a couple aspirin in his mouth, followed by enough water to make him swallow. “It’s just a flu, everyone gets one now and then. Head warm, body cool, I think--no, it’s the other way around,” he remembers vaguely, and tucks the room’s single blanket around Ja’far. “Are you cold?”

 

"No," is the rasp to follow, and Ja'far lets his head fall against Sinbad's shoulder as he shakes, trying to curl up again into a ball once more. "'s fine."

 

Sinbad frowns, then curls up behind the kid, tucking his arms around him again. “Here, I’m nice and warm, that should help. Just until you’re feeling better, okay? Oh, if you’re hungry, I have some chicken noodle.”

 

Ja'far blinks slowly at him, not even bothering to ask what the hell a chicken noodle is when Sinbad _is_ warm, and that makes him stop shaking, just a little bit. Even if he _needs_ to die, instinct makes him huddle up against Sinbad's warm chest, breath a little ragged from his shivering as he shuts his eyes. 

 

The boy doesn’t seem quite so awful this way, all curled up and shivery, and Sinbad suddenly remembers how little he’s _slept_ lately, and how much he _hurts_. Oh, well. They’ll probably both be alive in the morning.

 

They _are_ , no matter how Sinbad’s shoulder aches when he wakes up, bad enough that he stumbles to down his pills with shaking fingers, breathing heavily and clenching his fists until they kick in, before he checks on Ja’far. Two more aspirin down the kid’s mouth later, and he stumbles over to the induction burner, opening a can of Campbell’s chicken noodle from concentrate and mixing it with water, letting the heat do the rest. “You like it strong, or weak?”

 

Ja'far's eyes slowly crack open before they shut again, and he makes no attempt to rise, only to roll over into the warmed sheets where Sinbad's body was only moments prior. "Dunno." It's hard to talk, when his teeth are sort of chattery. 

 

Sinbad winces at the boy’s weak tone. “Sorry it’s so cold in here, I don’t have heat. Soup should help, though.” While the soup is cooking, he takes off his shirt, laying it across Ja’far like another blanket.

 

His eyes slide open again briefly, just long enough for him to reach out with shaking fingers to pull the shirt tighter around himself. "'s not your fault," he mumbles, "if I die."

 

“It’s just a _flu_ ,” Sinbad insists, and even if the soup isn’t quite _boiling_ , it looks warm enough, so he slops it into a bowl and grabs a spoon, helping Ja’far to sit up. “Here, eat this. You’ll feel better. Can you hold the spoon, or should I feed you?”

 

"I don't get flus." Ja'far's head flops to the side, using Sinbad's shoulder as its resting place. "Not hungry. Just wanna sleep."

 

“I promise I’ll let you sleep after you eat a little.” Sinbad tilts the boy’s head up gently, spooning a bit of sodium-filled goodness into his mouth. “It’s _good_ for you, all the magazines said so.”

 

Ja'far coughs, trying not to choke and swallow instead, no matter how difficult it is when his body is _freezing_ and shutting down seems a lot easier. "Salty," is his grumbling complaint, though he makes no real attempt to move away. 

 

“Yeah, I guess the salt helps make it good for you.” Sinbad spoons a few more mouthfuls in before he sets the bowl down, satisfied. “That should keep you from starving. I’ll nuke it if you want more later.”

 

That prompts a rather odd look before Ja'far flops down into the cot once more. "You're too stupid to work nuclear technology," he manages to mutter before dozing back off.

 

Sinbad can’t quite figure out what the kid means by that, so he ignores it, letting Ja’far sleep on him for a couple hours before he gets restless and stands. He scrawls a note and leaves it resting on Ja’far’s face before leaving, a giddy, nervous excitement going through him at the idea of what he’s going to do.

 

Rashid’s rules are simple: don’t steal, and you’ll be provided for. That’s all well and good, but knowing what he does about the kid’s past, Sinbad isn’t so sure Rashid would take too well to having a tiny little assassin in his house, certainly not enough to buy him medicine and stuff. 

 

That does send a surge of guilt through him, and he resolves to ask Ja’far again who his bosses were, and why the hell they’d be coming after a porn syndicate as nice as Rashid. That’s something to deal with later, though, and Sinbad can’t quite deny the rush of tingling excitement that goes through him when he successfully walks out the door of a convenience store with an unpaid-for bottle of flu medicine under his jacket. 

 

He climbs back up the fire escape, not wanting to alert the doorman, and swings in the window. “Hey, tiny! I got you some medicine, you’re gonna feel a lot better!”

 

"My name's not tiny."  Ja'far doesn't lift his head from where it's pressed to Sinbad's pillow, pale hair stuck to his fever-flushed face with a sheen of cold sweat. His eyes aren't quite so gold as much as they are very, very dark now, and a little unfocused as he slowly heaves himself onto his back. "Cold." 

 

“I bet. I really am sorry about--oh, I know!” Sinbad yanks down a ladder from the ceiling, crawling up to the tiny attic above, returning a moment later with a couple extremely ratty old coats. “I used to sleep on this sometimes, it should keep you a little warmer. Here, drink this before you go back to sleep.” He pours a bit of the bright green stuff into the little plastic cup, tipping it down Ja’far’s throat. “That should make you feel better.”

 

Ja'far makes a face, the taste medicinal enough that he can actually get a smidgen of its bitterness, and he flops back down, pulling the extra layers of coats around himself into what can only be described as a nest. "Why… are you even doing this?" he mumbles, eyes lidding as he struggles not to fall asleep again right away.

 

“Because everyone should have someone to take care of them when they’re sick.”

 

_Silly boy, you should be out playing. I’m fine, you don’t need to take care of me._

 

Sinbad swallows hard. If he tries, he can almost hear her voice. “You have to sleep, okay? Here, I’ll keep you warm,” he volunteers, crawling in behind Ja’far again.

 

"Dumb," Ja'far breathes out, but he curls himself up against Sinbad all the same. If nothing else, the other boy is like a furnace, and he shuts his eyes as he shivers slowly. "… Thank you."

 

If that isn’t progress, Sinbad doesn’t know what is. “Just get better,” Sinbad advises, tucking the boy’s head under his chin. “Hopefully before next week, I have a lot of work next week.”

 

"Sorry." Ja'far shivers again. "Really sorry."

 

“No, I just mean if you’re still sick next week you might be kinda lonely.” Without thinking, Sinbad presses a little kiss to the top of the kid’s head. “Just sleep, you’ll feel better.”

 

A dim nod, and Ja'far buries himself into Sinbad's chest, curling up there as he dozes back off in short order. 

 

The medicine seems to do the trick, so Sinbad keeps giving it to him, every six hours as the package instructs. Ja’far shivers a lot less when Sinbad is in the bed with him, so he stays mostly, even if he gets really antsy every few hours and has to get up to do some pushups and jumping jacks. He microwaves the same bowl of soup a few times before managing to get it all down Ja’far’s throat, after which he takes his last hidden $20 bill and goes out to a market, bringing back a small tub of homemade (from the store) chicken soup. “Hey, sit up,” he says gently, on the third day of Ja’far’s illness. “I got you some really nice soup, it’s less salty, you’ll like it.”

 

Everything's a little less cold now, though his vision still doesn't want to focus right away when he sits up, and waking up soaked in sweat still seems to be the norm. Ja'far flops over onto his back, blinking blearily up at the ceiling before pushing himself slowly, shakily onto his elbows. "You didn't have to do that," he murmurs, eyes lidded. "It all tastes the same." 

 

“How do you know? You’d never had chicken noodle before.” Sinbad takes a big chunk of chicken on the spoon and one of the wide flat noodles. “Look, there’s green stuff in there, that’s really good for you. Open up.”

 

"No, I mean… _everything_ tastes the same to me," Ja'far mutters, but he sighs, humoring Sinbad all the same. Okay, it _is_ a bit less salty, but that's about as far as he can tell. 

 

Sinbad grins after a few bites, taking one himself. “Yeah, wow, that’s _really_ good. Hey, there’s more color in your face today, and you’re not talking nonsense anymore. You still feel cold?”

 

"Not as much." Ja'far slinks back down, letting his head fall down onto the pillow again. "Can I take a bath? I feel disgusting." 

 

“Uh, this place doesn’t have a shower, I either do that at Rashid’s place or at the Y. I could sneak you into the studio showers downstairs if you want. It’s a set, but the water’s nice and warm.”

 

"… It won't take me long, but if it's a problem, I can do without." Not like he expects to live for very long, anyway. Ja'far bites his lip, turning his head aside into the pillow. "You've already done enough, anyway. I don't… really know how I am supposed to repay you."

 

“Nah, this time of night it’ll be fine. Just stick close to me.” Sinbad stands, then frowns. “Can you even walk? Do I need to carry you like to the bathroom?”

 

"I can walk." Famous last words, when Ja'far slowly tries to haul himself to his feet and promptly topples over, his legs buckling from disuse. 

 

Sinbad, to his credit, manages not to smile as he catches the boy, gently lifting him bridal-style into his arms. “Don’t be dumb, you’re sick, I don’t want to get you through a head wound too.” God, he hopes the smile doesn’t look too much like a grimace of pain, what with how his shoulder _screams_.

 

"It would be better if I died," Ja'far mumbles, flopping uselessly in Sinbad's arms. "But… if I'm not dead, I have a debt to you. I'm not good at anything but killing things, though." 

 

Sinbad considers that, using his hip to open the door, carrying the boy downstairs to the set showers. Good, all the lights are off. “If you have a debt to me,” he says slowly, “is that like a life-bond or something, like in the movies? Would you follow me around and listen to me and stuff?”

 

Ja'far's brow furrows, not quite getting the correlation, but he slowly nods all the same. "It's… well, I can't exactly go back. I failed a mission, they'll want me dead… so I don't have anywhere to go." That lights a fresh spark of panic up into his chest, and he swallows hard to keep it down. "So I guess you'd be my new master, if you wanted me to repay my debt like that." 

 

“ _Master_ \--” Sinbad wrinkles his nose, setting Ja’far on his feet, keeping a close grip on the boy’s waist. “I don’t like that word. I don’t have a master, so you don’t either. But I can be your boss,” he volunteers, and strips off his jeans, kicking them to the side before starting to take Ja’far’s clothes off.

 

"… But isn't that the same thing?" Ja'far frowns, blinking up at him, entirely unfazed about being stripped. 

 

“Well, maybe. But if you don’t like your boss, you can just quit. That’s what we call Masters in a free country.” He turns on the water, getting them both underneath the spray, holding Ja’far up by the waist.

 

"If I have a debt to you, I can't just quit." After so many days without, the water feels really, _really_ nice, and Ja'far exhales a long, shuddering sigh, leaning his weight against Sinbad as he just lets it wash over him and slough what feels like weeks of grime and sweat from his body. "Can _you_ just quit?" 

 

“Sure I can.” Sinbad frowns. “Soon. As soon as I turn eighteen. Otherwise Rashid will call the cops on me.”

 

"So he's your master until then, by your definition of that word."

 

“Well--I mean, I _guess_ , but he’s not going to _kill_ me or anything, he’s just gonna call the cops because I robbed him. So I’m free to be arrested.”

 

"You _wouldn't_ be a very good thief," Ja'far slowly settles upon, staring up at him through water-soaked bangs. "You're really loud. All the time." 

 

“I was a fine thief!” Sinbad glares, grabbing a bar of soap and washing traces of blueberry syrup out of the kid’s hair. “He was _supposed_ to be out of the house, not my fault he came back early.”

 

"A good thief would have been able to get away," the boy points out without hesitation. 

 

“He’s fast. And way stronger than an old guy should be.” Sinbad shrugs. “I thought I could talk my way out of it.”

 

"Mmn. You're not very good at that, either."  Ja'far tilts his head back, letting the water wash out the soap from his hair. "I feel better now, though. Thank you."

 

“Hey, he didn’t kill me or turn me in. I think I did pretty good.” Sinbad shuts the water off, then gives Ja’far a rueful grin. “No towels, sorry. That’s why I use the Y, but I thought that might be a little far for you right now.”

 

"It's fine." Ja'far grabs hold of Sinbad's arm for support before shaking himself out rather like a dog. "I can just wrap myself back up in a blanket again." He looks up hesitantly. "You're… okay, then, with settling my debt like this?"

 

Sinbad shrugs. “As long as you are. Just don’t call me master. You can call me Sinbad, everyone else does now.”

 

"… But if you're my mas…boss, then shouldn't I call you something more formal?"

 

“But I don’t want you to. So do what your boss says,” Sinbad says logically, tousling the boy’s wet hair.

 

Stress briefly pulls on his expression, but the boy slowly nods all the same. "All right. If that's what you want." If he's learned one thing over his fourteen years, it's not to argue with his master-- _boss_ , though this one is… decidedly different.

 

Maybe that's not such a bad thing.


	9. Chapter 9

Sinbad doesn’t _mean_ for things to go wrong, no matter what Ja’far might accuse him of. He certainly doesn’t _mean_ for the car to give out halfway to Vegas, smack dab in the middle of the Mojave Desert, about two hours before sunset. He tries to look under the hood, having some vague idea which bit is the engine and being pretty damn sure which one is the oil--yep, that’s hot--but as neither of those are making big smoky problems, he lowers the hood again and pronounces it “Broken or something.”

 

He doesn’t like the look of Ja’far being _scared_ , nor does he particularly fancy trying to sleep in the car with all their junk in the backseat, so he grabs a couple of blankets, urging Ja’far off the road. “Come on, we’ll sleep here tonight and hitchhike once it gets light. It’ll be fun, like camping! And we’ll still make the Expo, it doesn’t start for three days.”

 

Ja'far exhales a long, put out sigh, casting a rueful look back at the car. This is hardly the first time Sinbad has gotten them into a _situation_ in the past three years that Ja'far has followed at his heels, but it certainly feels like one of the most annoying ones. "… I bet I can fix it." He looks back to Sinbad. "Do you carry _any_ tools around with you?"

 

Sinbad rolls his eyes, exasperated. “There’s no _way_ we’re getting into this again--I don’t care _what_ kind of shitty creepy kiddy murder daycare you were in, there’s no way they taught an eleven-year-old how to fix a damn car!” Along with fishing, wall-climbing, electric wiring, plumbing, and any of the other twenty million things he’s been exasperated with Sinbad for not knowing how to do.

 

Ja'far opens his mouth, then shuts it again, deciding not to correct Sinbad about his age for the umpteenth time. "Not a _car_ , specifically, but most of the principles of engineering are all the same."

 

Sinbad raises an eyebrow, folding his arms. “Can you fix it with a buttplug and some nipple clamps?”

 

A deadpan stare follows. "The clamps might help." He reaches down, pulling a knife from his thigh and turning around to go back to the car. 

 

“I told you to leave those at home,” Sinbad mutters, grabbing a bag of lighting grips and clamps from the trunk, setting it at Ja’far’s feet to see if there’s anything he can use. “If someone feels you up and gets stabbed they’re going to find out your ID is fake.”

 

"… But no one ever feels me up," Ja'far points out, popping the hood back up and waving away the smoke with a sigh. "I'm too skinny, as you enjoy pointing out. And besides, they wouldn't be able to catch me if I stabbed them." There might have been incidents that Sinbad didn't hear about. 

 

“I told you to stop stabbing people! Unless I tell you to,” Sinbad corrects himself, irritably fumbling for a cigarette from his pocket. “Come on, there’s no way you can fix a fucking car, just come camp with me tonight and we’ll hitch into Primm in the morning.”

 

"Will you just shut up and come hold this flashlight?" Ja'far growls at him, shoving the thing into Sinbad's hand as he bends over the front of the car. "I can fix a car, I fixed your _heater_ the night your landlord refused to come out, didn't I?"

 

“Well, yeah,” Sinbad admits, holding the flashlight at as good an angle as possible, all the while keeping an ear out for coyotes and mountain lions. Though really, he’s always wondered how hard those were to wrestle….

 

“I understand why you’d teach a kid to fix a heater, though, and that’s all electricity. This is internal combustion!”

 

"More like a leaky water tank," the younger man mutters, sighing as he drapes himself forward, feet nearly off the ground in the process. "Damn. I'm not sure I can patch this up, and I know we don't have enough to fill it back up properly." 

 

“I have chewing gum and diet coke,” Sinbad offers unhelpfully. “It looks like there’s a little creek over that way, I could drink all the coke and fill it up with water. Hey, you want me to pick you up so you can see better?”

 

"Don't be an idiot," he sighs, rocking back onto his heels again and wiping his hands off irritably. "Unless you've got something that can fill and seal a plastic crack tonight, then I guess we really are stuck."

 

“I said I had chewing gum,” Sinbad mutters, and puts the flashlight away, stepping a few feet away from the car to light his cigarette. “Come on, camping isn’t so bad, right? Have you ever even been?”

 

"… Does sleeping out in the snow with a tent made from my own cloak count?" Ja'far shuts the car hood, brow furrowed in irritation. "This isn't camping, this is being stranded."

 

“It’s camping because camping sounds more fun,” Sinbad argues. “Besides, it’s _weird_ that they made you wear a cloak, it sounds like you were raised in a Renaissance Faire or something. Come on, rich people pretend to be poor people this way all the time, it’s like we’re successful already!”

 

"I liked my cloak," is the sullen mutter to follow. "You're going to get eaten by a wild dog or something out here." 

 

“No,” Sinbad says patiently, “ _we_ are going to get eaten by a wild dog. And no we aren’t, we’re going to have a nice night thinking about the sexy ladies at AVN this weekend, and the giant beds at the hotel.”

 

Ja'far sighs a long-suffering sigh, and simply sheathes his knife with a shrug of resignation. "Maybe _you_ will be thinking about them. I don't care."

 

“You will when you’re older,” Sinbad promises confidently, grabbing everything that looks blankety and tossing it on a smooth patch of desert ground. “Huh, I thought the desert would be….sandier.”

 

"I'm seventeen, I'm not a kid," Ja'far deadpans, and fishes around in the backseat for the bag of snacks and drinks that Sinbad always insists on bringing. "Don't throw it all right there, we need to at least keep a distance off of the road. It isn't safe otherwise."

 

“But what if someone steals the car?” Sinbad says practically. “Or what if we see a cougar and we have to make a break for it? Or some nice truck full of sexy people shows up to take us to the Playboy Mansion? Definitely by the car is better.”

 

"No one is going to steal a broken down car, I've killed large cats before, and no one is going to show up and take you to the… whatever."

 

“ _How_ have you lived with me for three years and not heard about the Playboy Mansion?” Sinbad demands. “And you are _definitely_ telling me that story about the large cat.” He settles down on the blankets, looking up expectantly.

 

"After we move away from the road." Ja'far scowls down at him, arms folding over his chest. "Don't be an idiot about this, it just isn't _safe_."

 

After a glance, Sinbad decides it’s not worth going toe-to-toe with stubborn Ja’far, and he stands, slinging everything over his shoulder. “What are we running from, by the way? Drifters?”

 

"We aren't running, we're being intelligent so we don't have to run." Ja'far heaves a long sigh, shaking his head. "It isn't so difficult to understand, it could be as simple as someone flipping their car on the highway and it crashing into us if we're too close to the road. Use some common sense." 

 

Sinbad looks back at the decidedly empty highway. “Whatever, you’re the boss. Not too far, if it gets really cold I want to be able to get back without walking a long way at night.”

 

"The car isn't going to help us from being really cold," he points out with a roll of his eyes. "But fine, not too far. And the cat was boring to kill, they're a lot easier than humans."

 

“But--wait, what the hell kind of cat are we talking about? It wasn’t a _pet_ , was it?” Ja’far doesn’t share overmuch, but what he does share is always….creepy.

 

"No, it was a wildcat. Though I met someone that tried keeping tigers as pets once."

 

“I tangled with a wildcat once,” Sinbad reflects, stretching out on the blankets and lighting another cigarette to replace the one he’d tossed away. “Well, that’s the mascot on her uniform, anyway. A tiger, too, but that was from a different school. Cheerleaders, man.”

 

Ja'far stares at him, decidedly put out, before grabbing the rest of the blankets to make a proper nest out of them. "You're kind of disgusting. Can you not go through that entire pack of cigarettes, it's the last one you have."

 

“Hey, what’s disgusting about having fun with someone who wants to have fun?” Sinbad asks mildly, and doesn’t even bother to argue before grabbing Ja’far back closer, wriggling under his blankets too before blowing smoke in his face. “We’ll be warmer like this. And don’t worry, I’ll get another pack tomorrow.” With money that he’ll magically find somewhere, probably.

 

The younger man sighs, lidding his eyes as he breathes in the smoke without protest. "At least share properly before you go through all of it," he murmurs, curling into a ball close to Sinbad's chest.

 

Sinbad brings his hand down, resting the cigarette at Ja’far’s lips. “Don’t burn me. I’m gonna have to get shirtless in a couple days.”

 

"Not gonna burn you." His eyes shut entirely as he inhales a long, wavering breath of smoke, tension unraveling from his limbs in short order. "Why are you so set on this? You don't have to do porn anymore."

 

Sinbad doesn’t bother to say what he tells everyone else--that he’s good at this, that it pays amazingly well, that it’s better than being out on the streets. Ja’far knows him well enough to know he could do almost _anything_ and make money, has seen him turn down ridiculous amounts of it in exchange for things he hasn’t wanted to do.

 

“I think I could change things.” The words sound a little uncertain on his lips, and he realizes with a hint of shyness that it’s the first time he’s said them aloud. “I--it doesn’t have to be such a gross thing, like everyone thinks it is. The actors don’t _have_ to be abused, they don’t have to be drug addicts and desperate prostitutes. I’ve known a lot of people who could have been--I mean, they could have been _amazing_ , they had real talent, you know? But no one cared, because it’s just porn, and everyone knows porn is just a sad shitty thing for desperate losers. I could change all that, maybe.”

 

Ja'far's head tilts, contemplative, and he takes another, slow drag from the cigarette. "I suppose if anyone could do it… it would be you," he murmurs. "For the record, I don't think it's gross. I just think the way you talk about it sometimes is, but that's because sex seems so… messy. And unappealing. To me."

 

Sinbad nods slowly, stealing his cigarette back for a last drag before stubbing out the butt. “Yeah, but you know most people don’t think that way. Like...if you look at it, porn is supposed to be about inspiring someone’s lust, right? Think about what you could _do_ with that. If people didn’t think it was gross, it could be so cute, right? Like a couple picking out a movie to get them in the mood on date night, that kind of thing.”

 

"… You should just be glad that everyone thinks you're attractive and someone will buy into your idea just on that alone."

 

“Yeah, well, if Rashid caught an ugly thief looting his house, he’d probably just have slit my throat,” Sinbad reflects, knowing now what he hadn’t known before about his old benefactor. “Or I’d have died before, or whatever. Ugly people don’t make good porn. Mediocre-looking people do, but ugly people make great cameramen.”

 

"Then I'll stick to being your cameraman--or better yet, I'll be nowhere near your set and filing all of your taxes or something," Ja'far replies, shifting around to get more comfortable and lay his head on a makeshift, bunched up blanket that serves as a pillow.

 

Sinbad blinks. “Huh? Did--wait, what did I say? I didn’t call you ugly, did I?”

 

"… No? But I'm definitely not making porn, nor do I look like I should."

 

“If you wanted to,” Sinbad says, grinning because the idea sounds so _silly_ , “I could sell you in a heartbeat. I guarantee they’d be flying off the shelves, shit.”

 

Ja'far blinks slowly at him. "I doubt that."

 

“Porn made by people who look like they’d never make porn always sells,” Sinbad assures him. “That’s why my shit sells so well. Also I’m a good actor. And I’m hot.”

 

"I'm not either of those last two things, though." Ja'far eyes him. "Also, you look like you'd make porn."

 

“I do _not_! I’ve got a fresh-faced cheeky appeal! The only queers who make gay porn are either dead-eyed daddies or creepy ponytail mustache dudes or wispy little twinks. I’m special.”

 

"But your ponytail is slutty."

 

Sinbad huffs, touching his ponytail as if to console it, or protect it from Ja’far’s words. “There’s a difference between being slutty and being _porny_. A girl can wear a miniskirt showing the bottom half of her labia, she still doesn’t look _porny_ unless she’s got the fingernails, the body stocking, the bleached asshole, the tattooed lips, the fake tits and fake tan.”

 

"… You say all this like you've analyzed it," Ja'far mutters, and knowing Sin, he probably _has_. A sigh, and he half-buries his face down into his 'pillow.' "Whatever. It doesn't make a difference to me. I'm not going on camera."

 

Sinbad pokes him. “Take it back. Say I don’t look porny.”

 

"You look slutty. Is that better?"

 

Sinbad growls, then shrugs. “Marginally.”

 

"Why do you care? You're not dating me," Ja'far mildly points out. "Or trying to bed me. Worry about your cheerleaders."

 

“I don’t have to _worry_ about my cheerleaders,” Sinbad says dryly. “They always think I’m hot. I value your opinion, dumbass.”

 

"… I guess if I was going to think someone was… hot… then that'd be you?" He blinks back, still not quite understanding why Sinbad took any offense in the first place. "But I don't really look at people like that."

 

“I don’t care if you think I’m _hot_ , I know I’m hot and I’m not trying to get into your pants,” Sinbad says in exasperation. “Just...don’t be such a dick. You’re my friend, don’t tell me I look porny or slutty.”

 

"… But how is it being a dick when you do porn for a living?"

 

Sinbad rolls out of the blankets, shoving his hands in his pockets to pull out another cigarette, really irritated now as he stands. “I thought you understood that I want more than that. I want to change everything, and you’re telling me I’m just like everyone else.”

 

"I'm not--" Ja'far frowns, stress creasing his brow as his sits up. "I'm not saying you're like everyone else. I'm just--I don't understand why it's an insult when I was just… making an observation? It's not like I talk to a lot of your porn friends, so you're kind of what comes to mind when… porny does."

 

“Forget it.” God, what’s he even _doing_ , dragging Ja’far to a convention like this? The kid will be bored out of his mind. “Maybe you should just wait at the hotel when we get there.”

 

A firm shake of his head follows that. "No way. Knowing you, you'll get kidnapped or something and then murdered and it would be all my fault."

 

“Oh come on, I’ve only been kidnapped once!” Sinbad takes a long drag on his cigarette, realizing in dismay that it’s his last one. Shit, Ja’far is right, he needs to cut down. “You’ll be bored.”

 

"Assuming you don't get kidnapped, how am I supposed to know how to help you later if I don't go with you?" 

 

“Don’t be dumb.” Sinbad picks up a rock, hurling it into the distance, watching it soar slowly down until it hits the ground. “When you’re eighteen you won’t want to stay with me. You’ll go get a job doing taxes or skinning bears with your teeth or something, there’s no reason for you to stick around. Most of the time I think you don’t even like me.”

 

"You're loud and annoying and drink and smoke way too much," Ja'far quietly agrees, "and keep trying to shove my face in girls' chests when I really could do without. But if I wanted to leave, I already would have."

 

Sinbad huffs out a breath, kicking a desert plant with his toe. “You’re just staying because you don’t have anywhere else to go. I told you, when I get money I’ll give you some, you can have your own apartment and everything. Don’t worry about that.”

 

"… If you want me gone so bad, you can just say it." Ja'far huddles down into the blankets again. "I don't want your money, anyway."

 

Sinbad turns so fast he kicks up a little flurry of dirt and dust from his boots. “What? Stop _hearing_ things I’m not saying, I want you to stay because I like you!”

 

"Then the same goes for you! I wasn't trying to _insult_ you before, you're the one taking offense because you're my definition of _porn_ , shouldn't that be a _good thing?"_ Ja'far growls in return, yanking a blanket up and over his head. "You're dumb."

 

“Why would I think that’s a good thing when you think porn is gross?” Sinbad snaps, kneeling next to Ja’far and yanking the blanket off his head. He scowls, shoving his cigarette between Ja’far’s lips. “You’re right, I was being dumb. Does that mean you want to stay with me?”

 

" _Sex_ is gross," Ja'far mumbles in correction around the cigarette, huffing out a hot breath as he slinks back down into the blankets. "Because body fluids and mess. And I never said I wanted to _leave_."

 

“But you never said you wanted to stay, either.”

 

"You're being _really_ dumb. I said I wanted to go to a porn convention to know how to better help you, didn't I? There's an _implication_ there."

 

Sinbad sits heavily on the blanket, frowning up at the starry night sky. “You stayed with your last bosses because you thought you couldn’t do anything else. I forced you to leave. I just--I want to know you’re here because you _want_ to be, not because you feel like you’re stuck with me. I don’t like being someone’s last choice.”

 

"If I wanted to leave, I would have." Ja'far finishes off the cigarette, sighing as he puts the butt out. "I don't have anywhere else to go, but… that doesn't mean I'd want to go there, even if I did."

 

Sinbad turns to look at him, an oddly vulnerable expression on his starlit face. “Is it hard for you? To say there’s something you want?”

 

Ja'far blinks, then frowns, looking aside. "I've never…" A shake of his head cuts those words off. "Wanting things has never been a good idea before. Besides, I'm… fairly sure you are going to find someone that isn't 'just a kid' to spend time with, anyway. Probably even this weekend. So if I said I wanted to stay… doesn't it just make it more awkward later?" 

 

Sinbad opens his mouth, then closes it again, and sits in silence for a long few minutes. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “But it would make me feel better. I want you to like me, because….well, you’re important to me.” He smiles briefly, then looks away. “No one else really is.”

 

"… But I _do_ like you." The words make him flush, stupidly enough, and Ja'far rolls onto his back, hoping Sinbad doesn't see his face so clearly. "That's never been a problem. Staying… isn't either." He hesitates. "If it's easier… I can say I'll stay until you want me to go?"

 

Sinbad’s face softens, and he lays down too, nudging Ja’far’s shoulder with his. “Then you should just say, ‘Sin, I’ll follow you forever.’ That’s more accurate, because I wouldn’t ever want you to leave.”

 

 _'Forever'_ _isn't a good measure, though_ \--

 

Ja'far bites those words back, hesitating for another, brief moment before he nods. "… Sin, I'll follow you forever," he quietly repeats, turning his head to look back at Sinbad. "Are you happy now?"

 

Something tightens in Sinbad’s chest, and he nods, grabbing Ja’far and pulling him close to his chest, just as he’d done when they were no more than kids, both bleeding out onto his cot. “Really happy.”

 

"Squishing me," is the wheeze into Sinbad's neck, though Ja'far makes little attempt at struggling. So long as Sinbad is happy, he supposes he can bear it, just for a little while.

 

Sinbad releases Ja’far (eventually), though not much, snuggling under the blankets with his arms still around the kid. “We’re gonna be awesome,” he murmurs, a smile curving his lips. “Good things are going to happen, Ja’far. I’m going to make ‘em happen, as long as you’re with me. So….forever.”

 

Hearing that from Sinbad, it's easy to believe it. "Whatever you end up doing," Ja'far sighs, curling into a ball that fits rather easily within Sinbad's arms, "I'm sure there will be something I can do to help. At least I'll be busy, if nothing else." 

 

~~

 

It hasn't even been two years yet.

 

Ja'far sighs, shouldering his bag as he stares up at the building that Sinbad apparently runs his new studio from, eyebrows lifting. It's at least clean-looking, if not a little plain (surprising, for Sinbad), and Ja'far _is_ glad not to see a dozen drug users hanging out on the corner. Judging from Sinbad's ramblings about how his current 'accountant' used on occasion, and how he might have tried a few things himself--

 

Ugh. That was coming to an end. _That_ is why he's taking a semester off, not because Sinbad was all puppy dog eyes and whining and insisting _no I don't want you to come home, I do miss you though, when does college end and when do you come back_ the last time he visited and crashed in Ja'far's dorm room--

 

_It's just a semester. You can always go back._

 

Ja'far shrugs off the irritation--more his completionist personality than any irritation towards _Sinbad_ \--and opens the door, walking into the studio.

 

Sinbad does _not_ miss Ja’far.

 

He just happens to turn after every joke he makes to see the younger man’s serious expression, make remarks to no one by accident after flicking off the lights at night, and once, _maybe_ , called Nathan the accountant by Ja’far’s name. Maybe. Maybe not even once.

 

(Maybe more like five or six times.)

 

But he’s _trying_ not to, because Ja’far is at college, even if college seems to take forever (it’s definitely been at least nine years), and he’s getting along _fine_ without his mean tiny friend (who’s stopped being mean years ago, and had definitely been less tiny the last time he’d visited Ja’far’s dorm room). 

 

Besides, Ja’far-- _Nathan_ , dammit, he _does_ remember the man’s name--does throw a hell of a party.

 

It’s a celebratory occasion, though Sinbad had been a bit too drunk and high when they decided on it to remember now what they’re celebrating, even if the buzz has long since worn off. Something about a monetary benchmark, Nathan had said something about dividends before handing around the rainbow-colored pills, and even if Sinbad’s taken less than anyone else there, he still finds it a bit hard to focus. 

 

But he doesn’t need to focus much when everyone is laughing, even if his thoughts aren’t quite as jovial as everyone else’s seem to be. There’s a sense of accomplishment he’s missing, something he’s just not _achieving_ right now, something he’d thought would be _easy_.

 

Maybe he’ll just get drunk off his ass and call Ja’far tonight. _Shit, think of a reason. Uh...heard there was a prowler in his area, just checking up. Yeah, that’ll do._

 

Ja'far's starting to think he came at the wrong time. 

 

Damn, but he hates parties, especially loud ones. He's spent the last four months with the authority to make the things _stop right the fuck then_ , and he _wishes_ that extended to life outside of a dorm room. He sighs, eyeing the number of unfamiliar faces, all before simply turning back around and walking back out to linger outside of the studio instead. He pulls out his cellphone, dials Sinbad's number, and waits. If Sinbad isn't even _here_ , that makes this trip look all the more ridiculous. Damn, they're even celebrating something, Sinbad doesn't need _him_. 

 

Sinbad’s phone vibrates against his thigh in a staccato rhythm he only has assigned to _one person_ , and his heart leaps. “Everyone, shut up!” he shouts, standing up so fast he dislodges the girl (whatever her name is) from his lap with a squeak, slapping off the stereo amid protests of “What the fuck, man?”

 

He grabs his phone from his pocket, holding up a hand for silence so commandingly that total silence falls, and tries to make his voice sound casual as he answers. “Hey, what’s up?”

 

Ja'far stares down at the phone, looks back inside when the music suddenly _stops_ , and he wonders what in the world Sinbad's problem is. "… Don't stop just because of me," he mutters, rolling his eyes skyward. "Guess where I am."

 

Sinbad’s heart leaps into his throat, and he bolts for the window, leaping over a couch in one stride to look down at the street below. “I--where? You--did you come home?” Uselessly, he tries to remind himself that he doesn’t miss Ja’far at all. “I mean, of course you’re still at school, right? You--did you come home?” Shit, already asked that.

 

"I'm outside. Right now." 

 

The couch isn’t so lucky the second time, hitting the floor as Sinbad misjudges his jump, and he hopes Ja’far can’t hear how fast his feet are going on the stairs. “What a coincidence, I was just on my way out for a smoke! Front, or back?”

 

"… Front," is the slow, wry response, and Ja'far lowers his phone, turning it off with a sigh. All right, so maybe Sinbad _is_ happy to see him. That makes it worth it, even if he doesn't _need_ him.

 

Sinbad changes direction mid-stride, hastily pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket to give himself an excuse, and throws the door open, ignoring all ideas of acting nonchalant when he sees Ja’far. He doesn’t quite remember getting from here to there, and hopes it looked a bit more dignified than running full-tilt, but it feels like no time at all until he’s lifting Ja’far bodily, crushing the boy to his chest--no, not boy, Ja’far is man-sized now, and that’s one of the strangest things he’s ever noticed. “Ah! You’re--you’re _here_ , I thought you weren’t coming back, is everything with school all right? Are the other kids being nice to you? I don’t need your help with the books or anything, it’s _fine_ , I have Ja’far, I mean Nathan, but you’re _here_ \--”

 

Ja'far wheezes into Sinbad's shoulder, lifted entirely off of his feet by the man's embrace--impossible to protest against, when Sinbad is so enthusiastic about it all. "I took the semester off," he exhales, giving Sinbad's shoulder a slap in a plea for mercy and _please put me down already_. "From what you were telling me, you _do_ need help with the books. You were getting tax audits and your accountant was getting _both_ of you high."

 

The semester off--that’s _months without leaving again_ , and Sinbad has to come to his senses before he breaks the kid’s ribs. He sets Ja’far down after a few more furtive slaps, unable to help from beaming. “Yeah, it’s all shit, but you’re here now, you’ll have it fixed in seconds!”

 

"God willing," Ja'far mutters, rocking back onto his heels with a deep breath. "Please tell me you kept accurate records of everything… and that you aren't using at all anymore." 

 

“Nothing hard,” Sinbad says immediately, grabbing Ja’far’s shoulders and marveling at the _tone_ in them, at how much lean muscle Ja’far’s put onto those bones in a short amount of time. “Just party favors here and there, I don’t even like them that much, I just get _bored_ when you’re gone.”

 

"Well, stop it. It isn't good for you." _Not that smoking is much better, but at least it isn't illegal_. Ja'far sighs, batting Sinbad's hands away. "Are you still partying? I was going to ask if I could stay at your apartment, but I can always just get a hotel…"

 

Sinbad grins, unfazed, and wraps his arms around Ja’far’s shoulders. “I don’t live there, that’s just the rec room above the studio. Come on, I’ll show you my place. Where’s all your stuff?” he asks, turning his back on the studio without a second glance.

 

Ja'far shrugs the one bag he brought higher up his shoulder. "Here. It's not like I have much."

 

Sinbad winces. There’d been little money left, after starting the studio, to furnish Ja’far’s dorm room or buy him clothing, equipment, computers. “I’ll get you a lot more stuff now,” he promises, and clicks his keys, a dark sedan’s lights winking on and off again.

 

"Why? I hardly need it." Ja'far's eyebrows arch at the car. "Though it looks like you've been doing well enough for yourself. That's good."

 

“Things are going well,” Sinbad agrees modestly, opening the door for Ja’far and tossing his stuff in the back before getting in. “Could be better, I think Ja’far might be skimming off the top, but you’ll put him to rights.”

 

Ja'far pauses before he gets in the car, giving Sinbad a bemused look. "… I thought your accountant's name was Nathan."

 

“It is,” Sinbad responds, frowning as he pulls onto the road. “What did I say?”

 

"Ja'far. Are you sure you aren't high? Or drunk?"

 

Sinbad’s cheeks flush just a bit, and he’s glad the evening dimmness will hide it. Probably. “Nah, that wore off hours ago. Why did you take a semester off? Was everything okay at school?”

 

"Everything was fine. I took off to help you." Ja'far sighs, sinking back into the seat. "Though I'll probably never get my RA position back after this. They probably think I'm a slacker."

 

Guilt nags worse than Ja’far ever has. “You didn’t need to do that. And if they know you at all, they’ll know you’re not a slacker.”

 

"It's a job, all that matters is what's on paper." He shrugs dismissively. "It doesn't matter, it's less work to do which will let me focus more on my classes later when I go back." 

 

“Plus you won’t need it,” Sinbad offers eagerly. “Because I’ll be paying you for doing the books, of course, so you’ll have more than enough to compensate. The studio’s doing really well, I canceled your student loan three months ago.”

 

"You didn't have to do that," Ja'far immediately protests, twisting to frown at him. "I don't expect you to pay for any of it, _you're_ not the one going to college."

 

“Nonsense, it’s back pay for all the work you’ve done since you were fourteen.” Sinbad grins, so pleased Ja’far is home that he forgets to intentionally get his age wrong.

 

Ja'far's frown deepens. "… But you didn't have to _pay_ for any of that. In fact, you shouldn't. I'm the one that has a debt to you already."

 

“Forget it, it’s just money.” Odd, how much less money seems to mean when he can pay for all the food he wants, and shoes without holes in them. He’d always thought it would be the other way around. “You’re still by my side, that’s all I care about. Uh. Not in a weird way, or anything.”

 

There's no arguing with Sinbad sometimes, and now is one of those moments. Ja'far sighs, flopping back tiredly. "All right. Whatever makes you happy, I suppose." 

 

 _Just don’t tell him he makes you happy. That’s gay._ “Hey, we’re here. Nice building, huh?”

 

 _Nice_ is a little bit of an understatement. Ja'far stares, eyebrows slowly lifting. "… You must be paying a fortune for this."

 

“Yeah. Swanky, huh?” Sinbad’s probably a little too excited, but really, Ja’far is the only person that’s known him since the single-can-of-soup-for-four-days phase of his life. He shoulders the single bag without protest, slipping the doorman a smile and a tip, and leads the way to an elevator he has to unlock with a special key, winking to Ja’far as it goes all the way up. “Penthouse. I figured it was expected.”

 

"Your finances must be in total disarray," Ja'far mutters, trailing at his heels as he stares, a little wide-eyed, at exactly how nice it all really is. "You're letting me look at all of the books first thing in the morning."

 

Sinbad snorts. “Like you’re going to wait until morning. I keep a set locked up in my place so Ja--Nathan can’t change them around at night without me noticing, you can look at those once you’re settled.”

 

"Why do you keep him around if you _know_ he's messing things up so badly?" Ja'far exasperatedly replies, shaking his head as he trails at Sinbad's heels. "And would you mind if I took a shower first? Buses aren't exactly conducive to pleasant traveling experiences." 

 

“Wait a week if you want, I just wanted you to know it’s available so you don’t get twitchy.” Sinbad reaches his door--the only one on the top floor--and opens it, first with the security system, then with a humble key, flicking the professionally-designed lights on with a grin. “Ta-da!”

 

"… I don't even want to know how much this all costs, do I," Ja'far manages as he stares. "When you said you were doing well…" _I didn't think you meant this well._

 

Sinbad shrugs, modestly admitting, “I got a good deal on the apartment, the owner of the building was a friend of Rashid’s years ago and he remembered me. The car is a lease, too, it just gives me the look of success. That’s important, you know. Wine?”

 

"Pass." Ja'far sucks in a breath, giving a shake of his head. "Anyway, about that shower? I apologize, but it's been a very long… several days. We can talk all you want afterwards."

 

“No problem. Not that you’ll care, but it’s a _really_ nice shower.” Actually, Ja’far might be swayed by that, if anything. He’s always had the slightest weakness for anything that warms his bones properly. “Just through that door there, you can leave your clothes wherever. I’ll get you a robe.”

 

"Thank you," is the grateful sigh to follow, and Ja'far immediately takes off to soak himself through. 

 

Sinbad's right--it _is_ a nice shower, and Ja'far spends a bit longer than he normally would, content to let the _solid_ water pressure slough any and all lingering grime from his skin (buses are _awful_ things) and properly wash through his hair for what feels like the first time in… well, a year and a half. Dorm showers aren't nearly effective enough. Finally, he drags himself out, a towel draped over his head as he grabs for the robe Sinbad left, and wraps himself up in it, a little too pleased over the fact the bathroom floor is _heated_. He'll forgive Sinbad for splurging on this place for that alone, he supposes.

 

"You can keep it," he sighs as he flops down onto the nearest couch in the living room a moment later, "if only for the fact it's well-heated."

 

Sinbad immediately flops sideways to wrap an arm around Ja’far’s shoulders, nudging the heat up a few more degrees. “Everything’s heated. I knew you’d be coming back eventually, I know how cold you get.” _Hoped you’d be coming back._

 

"More like I'm simply cold natured… what, were you planning on me moving in here or something? I think we'd drive each other mad." A year and a half minus Sinbad _has_ taught him that things tend to stay much, much neater without the man's presence.

 

“Oh.” Sinbad forces a smile. “Of course I can get you an apartment of your own, if that’s what you want. I guess you really _were_ sick of me, huh?”

 

"Sin, I don't expect _you_ to get me anything," Ja'far exasperatedly replies, idly batting the man's arm away to turn and look at him. "And I wasn't sick of you. I went off to school _for_ you, you know."

 

“I know, you told me over and over.” It still hadn’t made the parting any easier, let alone the _waiting_. “I just thought that when you came back….I mean, this is the first time we’ve lived apart. Did I really drive you mad?” Amusing, how he tends to pick up Ja’far’s slightly archaic turns of phrase, left over from learning English as his second language, as soon as he comes back.

 

"Well… sometimes," Ja'far admits, sighing as he sinks back. "It's more the mess you tend to leave in your wake. Let me guess, you have a maid here." 

 

“I was going to get a houseboy, but that seemed a little too camp.” Sinbad grins. “She’s very discreet. I don’t mind keeping most things in order, she just does the boring chores like laundry and sweeping and dishes and scrubbing mirrors and floors and stuff.”

 

"… So most things," he wryly returns, shaking his head. "You can do without. If I'm going to stay here for a bit, then at least save some money and let me earn my keep by keeping the place picked up."

 

“Like hell. You’re earning money by being my accountant, aren’t you? I can’t have my accountant sweeping my floors, it’s ridiculous. Why would you want poor Annalise to be out of a job, she’s got five children to support, and her good-for-nothing boyfriend sure isn’t going to help.”

 

"Sin…" God, but the man is headache inducing, even if Ja'far is inclined to agree with him in this situation. "All right," he reluctantly agrees. "But just know I don't _mind_ helping out around here as well."

 

Sinbad tries to keep any emotion out of his voice, lightly remarking, “You seem more willing to stay as my servant than as my friend.”

 

Ja'far's brow furrows in open confusion. "Well, I feel sort of awkward just mooching off of you…" _Since you're already paying for my school, apparently._

 

“Why, though?” Sinbad asks. “I have the money, obviously. And I’ve always provided for you, as well as I could. You starved with me, it’s only fitting that you should get nice things if you’re still following me. I mean--unless you don’t want to work for me anymore.”

 

"But I don't _need_ nice things. And of course I want to work for you--and be your friend--but that doesn't mean you need to… spoil me, or anything. Shouldn't you save that for a girlfriend?" Ja'far pauses. "I'm surprised you don't have one. Living here, I mean." It's a lot of space, for just one guy.

 

“I have a few. Off and on. Nothing serious.” Sinbad stretches out, resting his feet on the coffee table. Very quietly, he asks, “Has something changed? You seem...really different around me now. It’s almost like you’re afraid of me.”

 

"What? No!" Ja'far exhales, thoroughly exasperated, and sags back into the couch with a shake of his head. "I took off school to come back and make sure you weren't doing anything stupid. Maybe I'm afraid you're making poor decisions, but that's about it. You're stressing me."

 

“I don’t get it, I’m obviously doing fine! You left when everything was shaky, and now that it’s okay, you come back? I--I want you around, but I wanted you to go to school too,” Sinbad says, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up your dream. I always told you you could quit when you turned eighteen if you didn’t want to be around me anymore.”

 

"Just because you have a lot of money to spend doesn't mean you're doing the right things with it," Ja'far mutters, and he frowns, reaching over to flick Sinbad solidly on the forehead. "Keeping around an accountant that's stealing from you, doing drugs--and you wonder why I'm _worried_. School isn't even my dream, it's just a means to an end, so stop acting like a kicked puppy."

 

Sinbad catches Ja’far’s wrist, turning to look Ja’far in the eye. “Tell me it’s still true,” he offers, “and I’ll drop it.”

 

"… Tell you that _what's_ still--oh." Ja'far huffs, his expression softening slightly. "Sin. Of course I'm going to follow you forever, stop being such a baby."

 

Sinbad relaxes immediately, obviously, letting his head flop onto Ja’far’s shoulder. “Okay then. I’m still not going to let you work as my housekeeper, but I’ll listen to whatever you want about your apartment. You can even set your own pay as accountant, and I’ll let you fire Nathan, you seem to have a grudge against him.”

 

"I don't have a _grudge_ against him, I just--" All right, maybe he has a small grudge. But then again, he'd have a grudge against anyone that was trying to screw Sinbad over. Ja'far scowls, idly stroking a hand down the back of Sinbad's head. "I'm not going to set my own pay, that's weird."

 

Sinbad laughs, butting his head against Ja’far’s hand, smiling easily now. “You’re going to do it anyway. You’re going to tell me I’m trying to pay you too much.”

 

"Well, that's probably true. I'm not a real accountant yet, I don't have a degree at all." Ja'far sighs, tilting his head back. "And the classes are so _boring_. Everyone is an idiot. Can accountants study the effects of snake venom instead?"

 

“I never got why there was that much to study, anyway,” Sinbad admits. “I mean, it’s all adding and subtracting and factoring in various laws, right? I could do it if I had the time and I felt like it, what do you need that many classes for?”

 

"I don't know, but it's rather stupid," Ja'far agrees. "If a piece of paper didn't get us all more places, I wouldn't bother at all." 

 

“So forget it, and I’ll get someone to forge you a degree.” Sinbad reaches up, playing with some of Ja’far’s hair. “Rather have you with me anyway.”

 

Ja'far feels his skin flush hot, and he self-consciously lifts a hand, batting Sinbad's away. "If I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right." He hesitates, then adds wearily, "if you really end up needing me to stay, I can always look at online courses." 

 

“Whatever you want. I trust you more than Nathan, he might be licensed but he’s a terrible Ja’far.”

 

"I'm sure he's going to love me coming in and firing him tomorrow morning, then."

 

Sinbad thinks back to the rainbow of pills Nathan had had lined up in front of him, and his remarks about Skittles. “Yeah, I’m not even sure he’s going to be conscious tomorrow.”

 

Ja'far punches Sinbad's shoulder. "Why did you _ever_ keep him around for more than five seconds?"

 

“Owww, Ja’far hits hard,” Sinbad complains, rolling slowly to the side. “I didn’t have a lot of money when I was hiring, and licensed accountants aren’t exactly falling over themselves to work for porn studios. He was the only one who didn’t demand to be paid in pussy.”

 

Ja'far makes a face at that. "Fair enough. Maybe you should be the one to fire him, then. And check him into a rehab center while you're at it."

 

Sinbad groans. “Don’t even say that word, I’ve lost three of my best actors to those places already when they begged me for help getting clean. Methadone is goddamn expensive.”

 

Stories Ja'far doesn't want to hear about. He sucks in a slow, measured breath, trying not to think about how _messy_ the porn business is. "Right. Then I guess we'll budget for that, too." 

 

“Nah, that comes out of my personal expenses,” Sinbad says, waving that away. “That’s not a studio expense, I can’t rationalize that on the books.”

 

"You're operating under the assumption that I'm not going to be doing _your_ books as well. All of them."

 

Sinbad happily snuggles closer, winding up sort of on Ja’far’s lap. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

 

"… You really are clingy tonight," Ja'far mumbles, face coloring a bit more as he nevertheless pets the top of Sinbad's head. "Look, we can keep talking about all of this in the morning. I vote on bed."

 

“Good.” Sinbad stands, tugging Ja’far toward the bedroom, then stops, a look of confused, startled realization on his face. “Oh. I guess….yeah, right, the guest room is right there.”

 

A sigh, and Ja'far simply looks up at him with a wry quirk of his lips. "If you want to use me as a stuffed animal tonight, I won't hold it against you."

 

A blush comes to Sinbad’s cheeks--god, it’s embarrassing to be so transparent. He’d forgotten what it was like, to have someone around who knows him backwards and forwards. “Ah, I just….We never had two beds before,” he points out uselessly, shifting his weight. “It’s different now that we’re adults, isn’t it? You probably want to curl up by yourself.”

 

"Sin," Ja'far begins, _patiently_ , "I just made you an offer." 

 

Yeah, making his own rules in life is really the best part about, well, everything. Sinbad grins, wrapping an arm around Ja’far’s waist, and hauls him bodily into his room, laughing as he catapaults both of them into bed, curling up around Ja’far without bothering to take off his clothes first. “Sorry in advance for kicking.”

 

"If I wasn't used to it by now…" Ja'far curls himself up into the blankets, rather pleased to find that the bed is probably the most comfortable thing he's ever slept in. Well, if Sinbad is going to indulge, this is the sort of thing to do it with. "Good night, Sin."


	10. Chapter 10

(Flashbacks con't, part three!)

~~

 

 

Sinbad's books are about as bad as Ja'far expects.

 

Sinbad hardly needs to take a personal day when _Ja'far_ is the one working on it all, but he does anyway, all to spend the afternoon and into the evening perched upon his couch with Ja'far. It's a little annoying, having the man hover around him when he's trying to work, but for the most part Sinbad leaves him be, only occasionally offering him wine or beer and shrugging it off when Ja'far declines time and time again. 

 

"You need a bigger couch," Ja'far finally sighs out, stretching out his legs to drop them unceremoniously into Sinbad's lap. "Or you need to move. Pick one." 

 

“I don’t see why I should pick,” Sinbad says cheerfully. “This is fine by me.” He hesitates, looking down at Ja’far’s feet. How many times has he seen Ja’far limping a bit after a long day, trying to keep everyone from seeing? Sinbad’s seen the scars; there’s not a place on Ja’far his old bosses had left alone, whether they were trying to punish him or improve him, Sinbad had never asked. _I’ll stop if he tells me to_ , he promises himself, and gently tugs off one of Ja’far ‘s socks, starting to rub his foot in slow, firm circles.

 

The touch surprises him, and Ja'far jerks with a squeak that he can't quite bite back. " _Sin_ \--" Unfortunately, that sound of protest dissolves into a groan, and Ja'far sinks back, huffing out a breath that he wishes sounded a bit more annoyed as the motion sends a few pieces of paper fluttering to the floor. "You don't… have to _do_ that." 

 

Sinbad turns, giving Ja’far a slightly shy little smile. “You’re doing work for me, it’s the least I can do. Unless it doesn’t feel good?” He drags his thumb up the arch of Ja’far’s foot, feeling the tense pressure, and god, his feet are _tiny_.

 

"Doing work because--ahh--because I _work_ for you," Ja'far protests on another groan, shutting his eyes briefly as his toes curl. That's just not _fair_. "Not that I can work like this, though," he mutters, flopping back uselessly and making an absent grabbing motion towards the other man. "Give me one of yours, then. I won't have idle hands." 

 

Sinbad’s grin widens. “I was just trying to make your feet relax,” he murmurs, twisting around to lay his foot in Ja’far’s lap too. “Don’t yell at me later when you get mad about the work you didn’t get done.”

 

"I can't _work_ when you're doing that," Ja'far growls, and promptly grabs at Sinbad's bare foot with both of his hands. "I'm ticklish, and I _know_ how tense I am, so it's literally impossible. You, on the other hand," he mutters, digging his thumbs into the bottom of Sinbad's foot and dragging them along the arch of it, "probably don't even need this."

 

Sinbad’s breath leaves him in a sharp, sudden exhale, eyes lidding heavily. “Never get foot massages,” he admits with a slow, shuddering breath. “God, that’s _nice_.”

 

"You're easy," Ja'far murmurs, rolling his eyes in vague amusement as he works his thumbs in slowly. "And you're not very tense, thankfully."

 

Sinbad squeezes his fingers down around Ja’far’s heel, dragging in slow, even circles. “Not like you. How are your feet so tiny, anyway?”

 

Reflex bids him to kick, and Ja'far bites down another, rather squeaky noise as he squirms. "Don't _remind_ me. It's so hard to find shoes in my size. Ahh, god, lighten up a bit, way too much--"

 

Ah.

 

Shit.

 

Ja’far really shouldn’t sound so _erotic_ when he squirms and moans like that. 

 

Sinbad swallows hard, touching more gently as he shifts slightly, moving Ja’far’s foot a small, hopefully unnoticeable distance further down his own leg as he does. “You’re just too sensitive.”

 

"I know, I _told you_ I'm ticklish," Ja'far groans, sagging back as his fingers _try_ to keep up their kneading along Sinbad's foot. More accurately, he sort of squeezes helplessly as his leg twitches within Sinbad's grasp and he wriggles back further into the couch in a reflexive attempt to get away. "You're going to kill me," is his sigh as he flops his head back over the arm of the couch.

 

Sinbad should not be thinking how good Ja’far looks right now, stretched out and--the only word is _writhing_ because of his touch, plaintive little noises coming from his mouth, and he tries to remind himself sternly that no, no, this is Ja’far, this is the tiny kid who _trusts_ him, and no one else in the whole goddamn world trusts him. That helps, and he switches to the other foot, working his way up and down the sole. “If you die, I’ll stop massaging you,” he promises, tweaking a toe.

 

"Nooo--" It's a rather pathetic sort of moan, but Ja'far can't find it in him to care right then, not when having his _other_ foot worked on makes him squirm and kick anew, a shuddering breath escaping past his lips. He abandons his attempts at massaging Sinbad in return to grab one-handedly at the back of the couch, using it as some sort of grounding when all he wants to do is writhe. "No stopping."

 

A thousand remarks come to Sinbad’s tongue, and somehow, he stops them. He knows instinctively, knows for certain that if he remarks on it, says _you look like you want me to touch something else_ , or _the way you look makes me want to kiss you right now_ , or _anyone would think we were having sex if they heard you,_ Ja’far will stop. He’ll flush embarrassed, and he’ll see Sinbad not as his friend, but as just a _man_ , as a potential _threat_. 

 

Fuck that.

 

Still, Sinbad’s eyes trail up one leg as his fingers work, eyes tracing the line of a sweetly curved thigh, and _damn_ but college has put some nice meat on Ja’far’s bones. “You grew like a weed while you were gone. What did they feed you? I’ll buy the same.”

 

"Don't you dare," Ja'far bemoans, his head lolling to the side as his fingers knead against the back of the couch helplessly. His foot flexes in Sinbad's hold, a slow twitch and quiver of muscles dragging up the entirety of his leg. "Junk food, cafeteria food so bad that even _I_ can tell--if I never have to eat it again, it'll be too soon." 

 

God, this is _ridiculous_. Ja’far has to know, he _has_ to know how erotic he’s being, Sinbad’s getting surer of it with every minute. _Maybe this is a test_ , he thinks desperately, and slowly works one hand up the back of Ja’far’s heel, to massage the tight, tense muscle of one calf. “Gotta feed you something. I can afford more than chicken noodle and peanut butter now. Obviously.”

 

"That doesn't mean I'm picky," he gasps out, leg twitching anew when Sinbad's fingers work up higher. "That's--ahh, god--" That might have been a curse in Russian that follows--or five.

 

“Up.” Sinbad bends Ja’far’s legs, standing and holding out a hand. “Come on, you’re getting a full massage where I’ve got room for it. I bet you’ve never had one before, have you?”

 

Ja'far stares at him, a little dazed, and slowly shakes his head as he reaches out to take Sinbad's hand. "Haven't," he manages, hauling himself to his feet (albeit in a sort of wobbly fashion).

 

“Well, now’s your chance.” Sinbad tugs Ja’far towards the bedroom with an arm around his waist, all too reminiscent of helping a young boy with the flu down to the showers. “Strip to whatever you’re comfortable in, I’ve even got massage oil.”

 

Ja'far sort of flops against the foot of the bed once he gets there, tugging off his shirt in short order. "… You're _sure_ you want to keep working on my legs?" he warily presses, fingers on the waistband of his pants. "I kick. And squirm. And am generally unpleasant."

 

“You’ve been hanging out with too many people who don’t appreciate your particular flavor of pleasantness,” Sinbad says easily, tweaking Ja’far’s nose. “But I don’t mind, wherever you think you need it most.”

 

"… All right," is the sigh of a response, and Ja'far wriggles his way out of his pants, nude when he flops onto the bed. It's hardly the first time he's been naked around Sinbad--and god knows Sinbad is far more guilty of that than he. 

 

Shit, Ja’far has grown up. 

 

Sinbad’s seen him naked a dozen times and hardly noticed, but Ja’far’s certainly never had an ass like that before. _Junk food, huh? Make a note for shopping…_

 

He leaves his jeans on, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he climbs on top of Ja’far, dribbling some of the massage oil onto his back, letting his hands slide through it, working up and down the lean, tense muscles there. “Always so tense. You love work so much, I figured doing it would relax you more.”

 

"I _told you_ your couch wasn't the ideal work environment with you clinging to me all day," Ja'far groans, burying his face down into a pillow as his fingers clench into the sheets. His back muscles fairly _twitch_ underneath Sinbad's touch. "Next time, I'm starting in… ahh… an actual… office… or desk…"

 

“You can have Nathan’s office, of course. I’ll, uh, have it cleaned first,” Sinbad promises, working his thumbs slowly under Ja’far’s shoulderblades. “Don’t be mad at me for clinging, I missed you.”

 

"Not mad, just pointing it out." He _was_ going to say something else, but the words catch in his throat when something unravels at the top of his back and leaves him sagging into the mattress. " _God_."

 

“By the time I’m done,” Sinbad promises, running his thumbs down either side of Ja’far’s spine, working up to his neck, “I won’t have to worry about you kicking me. You won’t have a working muscle left. In a good way.”

 

Ja'far manages a sort of strangled moan in response, unable to really respond or complain at that idea when his head lolls forward and firmly down into a pillow. 

 

Sinbad grins, moving on to the tense, hunched muscles of Ja’far’s shoulders. God, he’s glad he’d said nothing, this is better than sex, especially with Ja’far. This is trust, something Ja’far never gives out, and it’s at least as intimate as the vast majority of sex Sinbad has had in his life, slowly working out the kinks of Ja’far’s body, feeling his entirely authentic groans and wriggles. “Just relax,” he murmurs. “You’re home with me now.”

 

"And you have a nice bed," is the groan to follow, tension melting away in layers beneath Sinbad's fingers. Ja'far is fairly certain he'd kill anyone else that tried to put their hands on him like this, but Sinbad is different, and also, very, _very_ good at this. " _That_ was a good purchase."

 

“Glad you approve. It actually cost more than the lease of my car, but I thought it was worth it. Has some kind of technology they only use in planes and space stations, but I just thought it was the softest one I’ve ever tried.” Gently, Sinbad brushes Ja’far’s hair neatly down, rubbing his fingertips up the sides of his jaw, to his temples. “Maybe that’s why I don’t share it very often.”

 

"Hardly believe that," Ja'far murmurs, not unkindly, a low, rumbling sound pulling from his throat as his eyes flutter shut. "You said you had girlfriends."

 

“I do.” Sinbad’s smile is a little rueful, rubbing back down again behind Ja’far’s ears, down to the front of his shoulders. “Not the kind of girlfriends you bring home. We hook up at their place, or in the studio.”

 

"Mmnnn, shouldn't sleep with your employees," he infers. It's not fair, how those careful touches send shivers from the source of unraveling muscle all the way to his fingertips. "Bad idea, what if you fight later?" 

 

“I _don’t_ sleep with my employees, I have more professional pride than that,” Sinbad says with a gentle pinch to one shoulder. “Girls just want to see where the magic happens so I give them a tour. You know, so they can feel like a bad girl, on the set of a porno flick, without actually doing anything mommy and daddy can find out about.”

 

"Ah, reassuring," Ja'far sighs out, turning his head to press his cheek to the mattress. "I thought I was going to have to scold you more."

 

“I’m not _entirely_ useless without you around,” Sinbad murmurs, working his slow way down Ja’far’s arms, amazed when he finds tension there too. “Just unhappy.”

 

His fingers _twitch_ , far from on their own accord, and Ja'far bites the inside of his cheek to keep from making a stupidly high pitched noise over just having his damned _arms_ worked on. "… If you were so unhappy about it," he manages on an exhale, "you should have said something."

 

“Just because I missed you doesn’t mean I wanted you to come home. I mean, I _did_ want you to come home,” Sinbad admits, working down to forearms, then down to one hand at a time. “I just didn’t want you to come home because I was unhappy. You wanted to go to school to help me, I thought that was great. If you can get in to a school like Harvard, you should definitely take advantage of it.”

 

"… Still." Ja'far's eyes crack open, watching Sinbad work on his hands through hooded lids. "If you had asked me to stay here, I would have. School is school, wherever it is."

 

“But I didn’t want you to stay because I asked you to.” Sinbad switches to the other hand, dragging his thumbs down the palm, slowly tugging on each finger. “Besides….” He cuts himself off, shaking his head.

 

"Besides?" Ja'far echoes, exhaling a slow, measured breath as he _watches_ the odd little twitches of pleasure run through his fingers.

 

Sinbad sits back on Ja’far’s thighs, tipping out a bit more oil as he starts working his way down Ja’far’s back. After a few quiet moments, he says, “You’ve never had any friends but me. If I tried to keep you with me….I mean, that’s abuse. Stockholm Syndrome, whatever. You deserve the chance to decide what you want to make of your own life, and if it’s with me, that’s wonderful, but if it’s somewhere else….I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

 

"… I've never had any other friends because I don't desire anyone else's _company_ ," Ja'far lowly drawls, letting his eyes flutter shut again with a long, drawn-out sigh. "You're over-thinking this. That's my job, not yours." 

 

Sinbad’s mouth quirks in a little smile, hands working down to the small of Ja’far’s back. “I’m not stupid,” he says softly. “I just don’t understand why someone who doesn’t like the idea of sex wants to work for a porn company.”

 

"Because--ahh--it's _your_ … company," Ja'far manages to bite out around a groan, squirming underneath the touch and grabbing at the pillow as a means to try and _stop_. "I wouldn't care if you were money laundering. I'd still do it with you."

 

Sinbad’s hands pause. “Is it okay if I keep going?” he asks. “I don’t want to skip important muscle groups, but if it’s gonna make you tense up and undo all my hard work, I will.”

 

"I'm already half a puddle, just do it," he huffs in response, flopping his head down helplessly. Besides, it's _just_ a massage. Sinbad has made that very clear, at least.

 

Satisfied with that answer, Sinbad works his thumbs into the big muscles at the top of Ja’far’s ass, working down with as much professionalism as on his shoulders. He prides himself on his massages, working slowly and meticulously, sticking to the muscles and not, _definitely_ not making a comment about how round and sweet and juicy Ja’far’s gotten. Nope. “Did you make any friends? Any fun classes?”

 

"N…o…" Ahh, he's going to die. That shouldn't feel so good, and it makes tension start to unravel in his thighs, making his nerves spark before they melt and go nearly _numb_. "Mmn… well… one. Took an elective… toxicology. Poisons. Venom. I like snakes."

 

Sinbad laughs, working his way down to the tops of Ja’far’s thighs, fingers and thumbs digging into the big muscles. “I remember. Remember that corn snake I found in the desert? I thought you were going to take him home with us.”

 

"Wanted to," Ja'far wistfully sighs out, and his legs sort of spread wider--as much as they can, at any rate, what with how they want to tremble and twitch. "He was cute."

 

“He actually was,” Sinbad admits, remembering the twitchy little face he’d woken up to, perched on his chest as if he were a sunning rock. “When you get settled into your apartment, you can get a pet snake, you know. We’ll make sure to get somewhere that allows pets.”

 

"Given up on keeping me here already?" 

 

Sinbad blinks. “You said you wanted your own place,” he points out, working his way down one thigh. “I….” His hands still, and he sits back on his knees for a moment. “If you want to move in to my apartment, I want you here. If you want to move in to my _bedroom_ , and keep a dozen snakes all over the place and yell at me for kicking and turn my home gym into a library, I want you here. You said you wanted to go, so I’m okay with that.”

 

Ja'far twists around, propping himself onto one, shaky elbow before giving up and flopping back down in short order. "I just… don't want to make things difficult. And I think we might drive one another crazy, eventually. I think I have gotten too used to living on my own." 

 

“You mean,” Sinbad says carefully, “that you think I’d drive you nuts. I’ve lived with you before without being driven insane, I doubt I’ve gotten any worse at it.”

 

"I think I've gotten a bit more… ah, what's the term--OCD? Something like that. Over the past year and a half," Ja'far wryly admits. "You don't want me reorganizing your things fifty times."

 

Sinbad doesn’t argue. It doesn’t seem like it’ll help much, anyway. “Well, whatever you decide. And you can still stay here as long as you like no matter what, whether it’s until you find an apartment or until I break you of that reorganization thing. Or until I can find you some better clothing,” he adds, working his way down to Ja’far’s calves. “Turn over, I’m gonna do your front.”

 

"… What's wrong with the way I dress?" Ja'far suspiciously returns, and slowly, painstakingly, flops over onto his back.

 

Sinbad starts low, deeming that the least dangerous part, working up Ja’far’s legs in slow, measured slides. “You dress like a little girl wearing her mother’s castoffs,” he says bluntly. “Or a hipster. Same thing.”

 

"I'm just wearing what's comfortable. Most of my time was spent in a library or my dorm, why should I bother getting dressed up?" Ja'far defensively retorts, giving into the urge to kick a bit.

 

“It’s not appropriate for an accountant of a successful modeling studio, though,” Sinbad says, working his way up to Ja’far’s thighs, an appreciative little smile on his face. “We’ll have to get you some adult clothes, like suits.”

 

"Mmn. Which I'll wear when I'm not pouring over your books. _Modeling_ , that sounds so _innocent_." 

 

“Modeling,” Sinbad says, mock-sternly, “involves arranging humans in tasteful ways for aesthetic appreciation. I fail to see how I’m not doing exactly that.”

 

Ja'far calmly puts his foot in Sinbad's face. " _Tasteful_. Key word."

 

“And who decides what is tasteful, exactly?” Sinbad counters. “Is Rodin’s ‘The Kiss’ tasteful? It shows two lovers in a passionate, adulterous, nude embrace. That’s in an art museum, and I’m some kind of sleazeball?”

 

"I didn't say you were a sleazeball," Ja'far sighs, dropping his foot down again. "Just that most porn isn't exactly _tasteful_ by definition. More power to you, I suppose, if you create something that is."

 

“Have you…” Sinbad’s eyes widen, and he moves up to Ja’far’s stomach and chest. “You haven’t seen any of my stuff, have you?”

 

"Well… no. I don't exactly seek it out," Ja'far admits, sinking back into the mattress. "You know I have the sex drive of a… what's something that has a very low sex drive?"

 

“Panda,” Sinbad supplies immediately. “But you were just a kid, I figured that might have changed.”

 

"It's only been a year and a half," Ja'far wryly points out. "I haven't changed very much."

 

“You put on inches! Lots of inches!” Somehow, Sinbad refrains from looking down between Ja’far’s legs. It’s difficult. “Besides, I thought you might be interested. You know, because it’s me. On a purely aesthetic level.”

 

"Only a few! And just in my legs, it took awhile to let out all the hems in my pants," Ja'far sighs. "And I can't say that I ever really wanted to watch something like that, but if it's part of the job--are you still actually in the movies you're making nowadays? Or just producing?" 

 

Sinbad works his way up, straddling Ja’far’s hips and massaging his chest and shoulders, mentally congratulating himself for every single second he doesn’t kiss the boy. “I’m still in them sometimes. Only when I think it’ll be a big draw, though, and we’re putting out so many films I don’t have time to do them all. I’ll officially retire soon.”

 

"Mm, good. You have a lot more important things to focus on." He feels rather like a _puddle_ at this point, pleasantly melted and wobbly, and so he gives up and shuts his eyes again, not even having the strength to squirm. 

 

Sinbad’s hands don’t stop, gently moving over the front of Ja’far’s shoulders, down his arms and back up, considerably pleased. “You really didn’t make any friends at college? I mean, you’re not exactly outgoing, but _someone_ must have taken a shine to you.”

 

"Do my professors count?" Ja'far returns, exhaling a heavy whoosh of a sigh. "Friends are just distracting. I didn't go there to make friends."

 

“Professors can count,” Sinbad decides after a moment’s consideration. “If you talked about things other than schoolwork. By the way, I want you to meet my--okay, don’t tense up, I know how you get, but I want you to meet my new bodyguard.”

 

Ja'far tenses up. "Your _new_ bodyguard? And what else would a professor and I talk about except schoolwork?" 

 

Sinbad waves the second question away. “New after you left,” he explains. “He was a good kid, he needed a place to stay, and he doesn’t have any mathy-skills like you. Seemed like the least I could offer him.”

 

His eyes narrow a bit, but Ja'far slowly, reluctantly relaxes back again. "What are you, a child collector?" 

 

“Only the children who don’t mind being collected,” Sinbad says cheerfully, then pauses. “That sounds creepy, doesn’t it? Whatever, I’m not sleeping with him.”

 

"Thank you, for that additional bit of information," Ja'far drawls. "Well, I hope he's at least good at his job." It shouldn't _ruffle_ _him_ that Sinbad has someone else around in his absence to protect him.

 

“Pretty good. I’m not dead yet, right?”  Sinbad puts the rest of the information away until tomorrow. He’s just gotten Ja’far relaxed, no need to bother him with talk of Kou Studios right now. “You’ll like him, he doesn’t talk.”

 

Ja'far squints up at him. "… How do you stand him, then?"

 

Sinbad shrugs. “He’s good at a lot of stuff. Just not talking. Great for lifting heavy things, though! Poor kid was in a gang, way too young, I actually got into a knife fight to get him out of it.”

 

It's going to give him hives, hearing about all of the things Sinbad did in his absence to nearly get himself killed. "Can you not tell me things like that right now?"

 

Sinbad’s brow furrows, and he stretches out, laying comfortably on top of Ja’far. “Worried about little old me?”

 

Ja'far opens his mouth, then settles back with another sigh, flopping an arm over Sinbad's back. "It's… troubling, to think I wasn't here when you were nearly getting yourself killed," he admits. 

 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re back now. Here, feel, I’m perfectly healthy.”

 

"You're certainly perfectly _heavy_ , at least," Ja'far mumbles, but makes no attempt to shove Sinbad off. 

 

“You’re less bony than before,” Sinbad points out, snuggling happily onto his side, pulling Ja’far to his chest. “It’s fabulous, much better for things like this.”

 

"I'm starting to think you just want to keep me around as one of those… squishy stress ball things," Ja'far sighs, but nevertheless lets himself be pulled around and thoroughly cuddled. Sinbad is warm, at least, and he can't complain about much when his limbs feel like goo.

 

“One that complains a lot,” Sinbad agrees, spooning up comfortably. “I do feel much less stressed when I’m squishing you, that’s for sure.”

 

"Good to know." Ja'far's eyes shut as he presses his face to Sinbad's shoulder. "For what it's worth… I am glad to be back here again. With you."

 

For a while, all the strange thoughts of how Ja’far’s body has changed, the creeping heat of being so close, and the way the easy, affectionate touches don’t feel quite so innocent disappear, and Sinbad presses a friendly kiss to the top of Ja’far’s head. “Good. I’m gonna try to keep you happy. You’re gonna be proud of my company and me, I promise.”

 

"Don't be stupid," Ja'far sighs in return. "I already am."

 

~~

 

A few weeks pass, and it's hard to remember why he ever left in the first place.

 

First of all, cleaning out Nathan's 'office' is a bit of an adventure, but other than that, working for Sinbad is surprisingly easy. It makes him wonder what he needs college for, and if not for that little urge to finish everything he starts, Ja'far doubts he'd even bother going back-- _especially_ with how clingy Sinbad has been since his return. It's sort of pathetic in a way, really… 

 

Whatever. Ja'far can't deny that he missed Sinbad as well, and so being able to curl up behind a desk and sort through numbers while the man hovers somewhere near in the other room is nice. Also, he's right. Masrur, his new bodyguard, is very pleasant company.

 

“Ja’faaaaaaaaar!”

 

The drawn-out call is high-spirited and light, Sinbad bounding in from the studio’s main floor, over-excited and eager. “Ja’far, I just signed a new actor! Check over all the paperwork and start background checks, will you? I don’t want _anything_ to go wrong!” He looks around at the office, eyes lighting up. “Wow, you really finished making this place your own, huh? It looks great!”

 

"If by great, you mean _clean_ ," Ja'far drawls, shutting a file folder on his desk and reaching out to take the new paperwork from Sinbad's hands. "Honestly, I don't know how you didn't have rats from the mess he left behind. Also, I have to ask--what constitutes 'bad' in a background check for a porn star? Some of your other actors _do_ have records, after all."

 

Sinbad waves that away, finding a clean spot on Ja’far’s desk and hopping up onto it, legs swinging. “Anything in the last year with violence needs to be checked out, anything they didn’t report but beeps should be checked out, more than three convictions for drugs should be red-flagged, stuff like that. I think….three? Of my guys have records. I checked them out, two were self-defense and one was a wrong-place, wrong-time kind of thing.”

 

"Fair enough," Ja'far replies, sighing in brief annoyance at the sight of Sinbad on his desk before shaking his head and turning away to his computer. "Do you have to sit there?" he casually tosses over, grabbing his reading glasses and perching them onto his nose while he types. "I have chairs."

 

“Not hurting anything,” Sinbad says with a grin, kicking his legs. “You look cute in glasses, how come I haven’t seen that before?”

 

"Because I never bothered before--school ruined my eyes," Ja'far grumbles, twitching a bit at the sound of Sinbad's feet thumping against the side of his desk. "Did you need something else? This background check isn't going to happen _instantly_ , you know."

 

“Ah, not really,” Sinbad admits. “Just want to make sure you rush that one through, the kid’s dad was friends with Rashid, I figured it was the least I could do, get him a leg up, so to speak.”

 

"Yes, yes, I'll rush it." Ja'far leans back, stretching his arms up over his head with a sigh. "Oh, while you're here--I was thinking, by the way… about next semester."

 

“You--ah.” Sinbad composes his face, trying as hard as he can to wipe out the sudden apprehension. “If you leave again, of course, I’ll leave it to you to find your replacement. Don’t want you coming back to another Nathan infestation.”

 

"I was thinking to switching to an online study." The younger man tilts his head, looking at Sinbad from over his glasses. "Assuming you want me to keep working here after another week of me micromanaging  your business for you."

 

Sinbad’s face lights up, and he makes no effort to hide his relief and delight. “Stay forever! I’ll cut back on your work load, of course--do you want to hire an assistant? That can easily be arranged.”

 

Ja'far makes a face at that. "Absolutely not. I don't want anyone else interfering with the way I do things, I have enough mess to clean up as is. Now, will you _stop_ making those sad puppy dog faces all the time?" 

 

“How the hell do you sound so much like a mom all the time?” Sinbad asks with a laugh, jumping up off the desk to tug Ja’far’s hair. “Don’t answer that, I probably don’t want to know. Are you coming home with me tonight, or have you found an apartment yet?”

 

"I don't sound like a _mom_ ," Ja'far protests, reaching up to bat Sinbad's hands away. "And--ah, I'm still looking for apartments. You don't mind if I stay a bit longer at your place, do you?" 

 

“I told you you can stay forever,” Sinbad reminds him. “You’re the one who’s so eager to be sick of me. I’m going out with the boys before heading home, you want to come?”

 

"I'm not eager to be sick of you--trust me, I wish you were a neater person," Ja'far sniffs, leaning back and folding his arms. "And no, I'll pass. Just don't come home too drunk, I don't want to listen to you."

 

Sinbad pauses at the door, sighing dramatically. “For someone who says he likes me, you sure hate everything about me.”

 

"Is today guilt trip day or something?" Ja'far snaps, scowling over at him. "Get out, I have work to do."

 

Sinbad leaves with a laugh, heading out with his friends, all of them piling somehow into a taxicab.

 

Four, maybe five hours later, a pleasant buzz in his mind that isn’t enough to make his steps or his words clumsy, he finds his way home, unlocking the door and going immediately to the bedroom, taking off his clothes as he goes. “Ja’far? You home yet?”

 

Ja'far's head pokes out from the blankets, glasses still perched atop his nose as he uncoils himself from around the book he holds. "You don't reek of alcohol," he remarks, rolling onto his back. "That's an improvement. Did you have a good time?" 

 

“Had fun,” Sinbad agrees, tossing his tie and jacket on the floor, kicking off his shoes as he crawls in next to Ja’far. “Kid’s got a weird stage name picked out, but I think he’s got great stage presence. And I’m not really one to talk, huh?”

 

"Mm… at least you sound like a porn star," Ja'far wryly replies, shutting his book and pulling his glasses off to set them both aside. "I ran that background for you, by the way. Nothing but a bit of petty theft. I'm assuming that passes the bar."

 

“Yeah, his family’s fallen on hard times lately. He’s a good kid, told me about that himself. Felt like he was a burden on his family so he stole some cash to buy a new coat.” He shakes his head, shaking the ponytail out of his hair. “Times are shit, man.”

 

"They certainly are. Your hair is going to end up strangling me in my sleep one of these nights," Ja'far adds on a sigh, watching it pool down Sinbad's back. 

 

“As if you wouldn’t wake up while being strangled,” Sinbad sniffs. “Knowing you, you’d have a knife out and hacking off my hair before you even turned red.”

 

"Probably. It's sort of obscenely long, it could use a trim."

 

“I had it trimmed last month!” Sinbad protests. “Come on, it’s my signature. At least I take good care of it, most of the guys with long hair can’t say that.”

 

Ja'far tilts his head, eyeing it. "Looks a little ratty to me right now."

 

“Shut your mouth.” Sinbad huffs out a breath, turning his back on Ja’far and throwing himself down onto the bed.

 

A shake of his head, and Ja'far reaches over him, grabbing the comb off of Sinbad's nightstand. "That was an offer, by the way," he murmurs, gathering up Sinbad's hair into his hands as he stretches out next to the other man. "There's no way you can comb all of this properly yourself, anyway."

 

“Tell me it’s pretty,” Sinbad mumbles into the pillow. “Tell me my hair is nice. And if you say the g-word I’m going to gay-marry Nathan in a giant ceremony that the studio will pay for.”

 

"… G-word?" Ja'far hazards with a blink, and he slowly works his way through Sinbad's hair, fingers plucking out the worst tangles. "You _do_ have nice hair, though." 

 

“That’s better.” If Ja’far doesn’t remember the horrible, hateful word he’d brought up months ago, Sinbad isn’t going to remind him. “You have nice fingers. Most people pull too hard.”

 

"I'd like to think I know how to handle your hair by now." The comb glides without hitch through that particular section of hair, and Ja'far moves onto the next. "You just have a lot of it. I don't know how you stand it…"

 

“It’s easier when I have you to take care of it,” Sinbad admits happily, stretching out his limbs. “You’d think girls would be better about doing it, but they always seem to think you can handle more pain if you’re a man.”

 

Ja'far makes a face at that, and runs the comb up high along Sinbad's scalp. "Unnecessary."

 

“Gotta have a gimmick. It was popular when all I had to sell was looking good on camera,” Sinbad points out. “Now it’s kind of my trademark. I’m bringing non-sleazy ponytails back.”

 

"… And replacing them with slutty ones," Ja'far mildly replies.

 

“Rude. What’s slutty about this? I’ve worn it this way since I was a kid. No one thought it was slutty when my mom tied it back, that was just the way they did it in her country.”

 

"You know, the mom card doesn't work with me because I barely remember my mother, and she also sold me to the mob."

 

Sinbad frowns. “Okay, that’s a decent point. Hey…” He reaches up, stroking a thumb down Ja’far’s arm. “How come you’ve never told me your real name?”

 

Ja'far hesitates, a little shrug following before he keeps up his slow, methodical combing. "Because it doesn't matter. I don't want to use something they gave me."

 

“But you’re using the name a terrorist group gave you instead, and they tortured you and made you kill people.”

 

"At least they wanted me." 

 

Sinbad winces. Ouch. He turns, gripping Ja’far’s wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I want you.”

 

Ja'far's lips twitch at that. "I know. That's why I'm here as a Harvard business drop out."

 

“You didn’t need it.” Sinbad butts his head against Ja’far’s hand, smiling upside-down at him. “If you’d wanted to be an entrepreneur, that’s one thing, but all you ever wanted to do was help me, right? You keep telling me you don’t care about money. Stop wasting it on Harvard, I like you just the way you are.”

 

"… Then I guess I'll send in my withdrawal papers officially tomorrow." Ja'far's eyes lid, heaving a little sigh as he gives Sinbad's hair a gentle tug. "What a waste of time and your money. I should have just done the online school thing from the beginning. I'm sorry."

 

“Nah, it’s fine. It’s good for you to get out and experience stuff. And if it means you’re happy to stay here with me now, it’s money and time well spent.”

 

"As long as you're sure." Ja'far snorts lightly, finishing up his combing and setting the comb aside as he flops back. "Though I think I mostly experienced the library. That's not a bad thing, though. Also, it's cold up there… it reminded me of where I was born, a little."

 

Sinbad twists around, pulling Ja’far back against him as he curls up, burying his face in Ja’far’s shoulder. “You never have to go back to anywhere you don’t want to be,” he murmurs. “Just stay with me, I’ll keep you safe forever.”

 

"You're being dumb," Ja'far immediately protests, huffing out a breath into the top of Sinbad's head. "You're not supposed to protect me. I work for you to do that, remember?"

 

“ _You’re_ dumb,” Sinbad counters. “I have to protect the person that’s protecting me, or I’ll be unprotected!”

 

"That's not how a bodyguard works! That's defeating the purpose!"

 

“You’re just mad because you got an easy job, being a bodyguard slash tax accountant for someone everybody likes,” Sinbad teases. “Come on, no one’s going to take a hit out on me. I’m lovable.”

 

"But you're _rich_ , and because you're well-liked, that makes people angry," Ja'far protests, wriggling back to frown at him. "People have died for far less."

 

Sinbad waves a hand. “No one’s going to kill me for my money, I have a will set up. The only people who don’t like me are other studios who think I make them look bad.”

 

Ja'far's frown deepens. "Isn't that for me to determine, not you? Honestly, Sin, you can be very oblivious at times…"

 

“That’s why I hired Masrur!” Sinbad tugs Ja’far closer, flicking off the light with one long arm. “I’m not that dumb. Have you sparred with him yet, tried him out? He’s a hulking guy, right? I’d think twice about tangling with him, guy that size.”

 

"I haven't, and he certainly looks formidable…" Then again, size means little over skill, but Ja'far bites his tongue all the same. He sighs, pressing his face down into the sheets. "Whatever. I'm sure between the two of us, we will be able to keep you in one piece."

 

“That’s all I ask. You two do that, and I’ll take care of everything else.” With Ja’far at his side, Sinbad is actually convinced he can do it.

 

It’s strange, the way his body moves even when he’s unconscious, and Sinbad would have sworn that he hadn’t moved from where he’d fallen asleep, except that he wakes up in the same position hours later, stark naked and curled up against Ja’far. 

 

And _interested_.

 

It had been easy to pretend before, but now, feeling that soft skin, that soft hair against his face, Sinbad bites his lip, feeling all too acutely the way the stiff head of his cock is pressed against one of Ja’far’s soft, supple thighs.

 

_Because that’s not awkward or anything._

 

It's another, long moment before Ja'far actually stirs, waking courtesy of the way Sinbad's breath shortens, no longer the long, easy rhythm of sleep. At first, he pauses, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dark room, making sure no one else is around and trying to kill them before he shifts where he lays, and--

 

Oh.

 

His face lights bright red, and Ja'far is _certain_ that such a thing is visible even in the dim light. Maybe, _maybe_ if he doesn't move or say anything--

 

It’s wrong, of course, to take advantage of Ja’far while he’s sleeping, and Sinbad doesn’t. He just….

 

Well, he can’t _quite_ help the way his hips twitch, just a little, in a steady, slow, needy little rhythm, rubbing gently against Ja’far’s thigh, eyes still squeezed shut in the hopes that maybe, _maybe_ he won’t notice until afterwards.

 

It was too much to hope that this would just _go away_.

 

Ja'far bites his lip, sucking a slow, measured breath. Really, he should have expected it. Sinbad is _Sinbad_ , after all, and the man has never quite been able to keep it in his pants. That's never really extended to him until now, but sleeping naked in a bed together sort of lends itself to that opportunity.

 

Still. He can't let it just… _happen_.

 

"… S-sin--" Ja'far swallows. Ah, yes, this is _very_ awkward. "Sin--can you... not?"

 

Sinbad freezes. He’d been preoccupied, too preoccupied to notice that Ja’far is _awake_ , and he should pull away, should give a little self-deprecating laugh and apologize.

 

But he’s so _hard_.

 

“Sorry,” he mutters, swallowing hard, though he can’t quite pull away. “If you--if you don’t mind--it’ll be fast, I won’t hurt you--”

 

"I… ah… I… mind." 

 

Haven't they had this conversation before, when Sinbad has tried to shove a girl in his lap, or drag him to a strip club? This is a dozen times worse in a way, because it's _Sinbad_ , and something like this could make things so complicated between them when it _shouldn't_ be.

 

Ja'far's face is still blazing when he wriggles away--or tries to, what with Sinbad's arm tight around him. "Sorry. I'll go sleep somewhere else."

 

This is _not_ what Sinbad wants.

 

He forces himself to wake up the rest of the way (difficult, when other parts of his anatomy are clamoring louder for his attention than his mind is) and reaches a hand down, shoving his cock down between his legs. “Sorry,” he says again, more chagrined. “You can sleep here, I won’t do anything. It happened in my sleep, I’m sorry.”

 

Sinbad sounds like such a kicked puppy that Ja'far can't help but think _he's_ in the wrong for saying _no_. He shakes his head firmly, grabbing up his pants, discarded the night before, and pulling them on. "It's fine, really. I'll just… the couch is fine."

 

Sinbad sits up, the sheets falling off of him as he watches, crestfallen. “You--shit, I’m _sorry_ , you don’t have to go, it’s just something that happens!”

 

"I'm not _mad_ at you." Ja'far sucks in a steadying breath, his hand already on the door. "We'll just--sleep better, like this. Probably."

 

“Dammit, are you afraid of me?” Sinbad demands, standing and throwing out a hand, holding the door shut. “If you’re not afraid of me, and you’re not mad at me, you shouldn’t have any problem, I _said_ I won’t do it again!”

 

"You and I both know you can't guarantee that!" Ja'far yanks angrily on the door once before glaring up at Sinbad. "And that's never happened before, so if it's that unpredictable--I didn't even know you were even…" He trails off, flustered, face turning red again. "Interested. In me."

 

Sinbad’s face flushes too, and he swallows hard. “I…” 

 

Shit, cards on the table, he’s never gotten anything by being coy. “Right, the truth of it is that it happened in my sleep and you could have been anyone,” he admits. “But also, you _did_ get really hot, and since you came back...I like looking at you. If you weren’t so noisy about not wanting to have sex with anyone, I’d have already asked you, or tried to kiss you.”

 

"I… I didn't get _hot!_ I blend in with your furniture!" Ja'far protests, waving a hand in flustered dismissal. "You're just saying that because you missed me and wanted me to stay--I already told you I would, so just… quit it! You never have sex with guys except when it comes to your films, don't think I don't remember that!"

 

“I--”

 

Sinbad throws up his hands, leaning heavily against the door. “I don’t know! I’ve never wanted to, but you came back all--grown-up, you know? Look, don’t be mad at me for noticing, I just think you’re really gorgeous and--but if you don’t want to, that’s fine, just don’t get freaked out!”

 

"You're insane," Ja'far huffs out, grabbing at the doorknob again no matter how Sinbad leans against the damned thing with all of his weight. "I'm not--I'm not _freaked out_. I'm just… don't you think that would make things awkward? Plus, I'm _not_ gorgeous, and definitely not the kind of person that needs to be the… boyfriend--" God, that word is strange. "--of a porn producer." 

 

“Okay, but forget about all that.” Sinbad moves, pressing Ja’far back against the door, blocking the way with his body. “Just forget about awkwardness and what kind of person you think you are and what kind of person you think I am, okay? Just….all that matters to me is if you want me or not.”

 

Ja'far swallows, the hard bob of his throat decidedly _nervous_. All right. Maybe he is a little bit _freaked out_. "I… haven't ever thought about it." And that's the truth, at least. "I don't… I don't really… do the sex thing. So that's already a big issue, I know how you are--"

 

Sinbad raises his eyebrows. “Oh? And how am I?” Ja’far looks like a nervous rabbit, but dammit, he wants _answers_.

 

"You have a lot of sex. With a lot of people." Ja'far looks up at him, eyes panicky. "Can you… not pin me like this? It kind of makes me want to stab you. Reflex." 

 

Immediately, Sinbad pulls back, sitting on the bed. “I just didn’t want you to run away,” he says quietly. “Doesn’t….” He exhales a breath, annoyed. “Doesn’t your dick work? You have to _know_ that it doesn’t speak for all of a man, right?”

 

Ja'far sags back against the door before slowly sliding down to flop onto the floor, rather like a puppet with cut strings. "It works just fine, I guess. I just have never… it has nothing to do with _you_ ," he suddenly, worriedly adds, glancing up. "I don't want to have sex with _anyone._ That would be a problem, wouldn't it? Because you obviously want to… do that with me, and I don't, so you'd just get frustrated and then your feelings would get hurt and I don't want to _ruin_ anything." 

 

Sinbad debates for a moment sounding disgusting, and decides that it can’t be much worse than what Ja’far’s already felt from him today. “Look….yes, I like sex. And yes, I want you, okay? But….okay, first of all, I can still be friends with someone after that. And second of all, I want to have sex with like, everyone. Not most guys, sure, but you’re….special, so whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s gonna _hurt_ me if you say no.” He swallows, raking a hand back through his hair. “Can you….still trust me? And be my friend, even knowing that I think you’re really hot and sometimes I might think about you like that?”

 

Slowly, Ja'far nods, his expression still worried. "… Yeah." _Even though you're wrong, and wasting your time, and this is already stupidly awkward._ "But… I still think I really should go sleep on the couch."

 

Sinbad sighs. “If you want. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of this to happen, I was trying to ignore it.”

 

"You need a real girlfriend," Ja'far mumbles, slowly heaving himself up and to his feet. 

 

“I have lots of girlfriends,” Sinbad counters. “I just don’t want to sleep next to them every night.”

 

"Then you need to find one that you want to do that with."

 

Sinbad looks up, meeting Ja’far’s eyes, and asks softly, “What if the one I want to do that with...doesn’t want to do that with me?”

 

"… You're guilt-tripping me," Ja'far quietly replies. "And that's not very fair." 

 

“I was asking a question. I’m sorry if it made you feel guilty.” Ugh, the bed is _cold_ when it’s just him, and Sinbad slumps back, a veritable thundercloud gathering over his head.

 

It's probably in his best interest not even to reply, especially when he doesn't know what to _say_. Ja'far makes a grab for the door, this time escaping in short order. Somehow, he's fairly certain he made this a dozen times more awkward than it was already going to be. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

~Present Time~

 

It only takes a minute for Sinbad to realize his relationship with Judal has changed.

 

It’s changed, he notices, eyes roaming over the naked form of his boyfriend, in his bed, curled up with a naked pretty girl, to one of three things. First, it’s changed to a relationship where Judal fucks around and hides it (poorly) from him. Second, it’s changed to a relationship where Judal tells him unabashedly that he’s fucked around, assuming Sinbad will understand. Third, it’s changed to a relationship where Judal brings girls home to share them.

 

All of those sound like simply too much _energy_ for tonight.

 

Sinbad sighs, walking out as quietly as he can, locking the door behind him and heading downtown a few streets, parking in a locked garage close to Ja’far’s apartment building. At least here, of all places, he’ll be able to simply sleep without anyone wanting to _talk_ or _grab_ at him.

 

Ja’far’s key gets him in, and Sinbad doesn’t bother waking the other man, simply flopping down on the couch and passing out in his suit as quietly as he can. It’s been a long, _long_ couple of days, and a bit of peace and quiet before everything starts again is worth its weight in gold.

 

_“My king, I will never leave you.”_

 

_Ja’far looks up at him, eyes slitted and intense, no matter the blood that runs into them. Sinbad clasps his hands, drawing him close with what’s left of his strength in his fading limbs, rasping, “It’s an order, Ja’far. Get away from here. You have to live. The people…”_

 

_He has to stop to cough up blood, the chains rattling as he does. Shit, Kouen’s men will be back any time, led by that traitorous, damned Magi. “You have to let our people know  how it ended. They need….they need to be ready. I can’t trust anyone else.”_

 

_“Damn you!” Ja’far hisses, and Sinbad smiles weakly._

 

_“Not if I can help it. That’s what they want.”_

 

_“But how can I--”_

 

Sinbad wakes with a jolt, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs as he gasps for air, suit soaked through with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, and for long moments, he has no idea where he is. Too small for a bed--a cot? Is this Kou? Have the Emperor’s men--

 

_Just a dream._

 

He could laugh, he’s so relieved to snap back to reality, but the dampness on his face isn’t sweat, and he’s not laughing.

 

He stumbles into Ja’far’s room, trying to quell the stupid, senseless tears, but they’re as stubborn as he is. He’s careful for snakes, picking one up and setting her back in her tank without a bite, then curls up around Ja’far, yanking the smaller man to his chest like an overstuffed toy. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “it’s me, don’t kill me, just go back to sleep, I’m sorry.”

 

Ja'far stirs immediately, the presence in his bed a far more jarring thing. He'd woken hours ago to the sound of someone entering his apartment, but the fall of the footsteps had been unmistakably Sinbad, and so Ja'far had simply let himself doze back off again, unconcerned.

 

 _This_ is cause for a bit more concern, Ja'far thinks.

 

"…Sin?" Ja'far squirms, twisting within the other man's arms a bit, and he feels something _wet_ against the back of his neck. "Sin, are you all right?"

 

“Fine.” The sound is muffled into Ja’far’s upper back, and Sinbad squeezes tighter, trying to swallow down the tears--but ah, he hadn’t been prepared to hear Ja’far’s voice. His attempt to laugh it off comes off a bit hysterical. “Bad dream, if you can believe it. Should know better than to sleep alone by now.”

 

Ja'far swear he hears a rib crack, but he doesn't mention it. "I thought you didn't have those anymore." He squirms, freeing himself until he can turn properly within Sinbad's arms to actually face him. "Why are you even here? I thought you'd be curled up with Judal."

 

Sinbad looks away, trying not to look like he’s hiding when he _is_. “Don’t have them unless I sleep alone. Thought you knew that’s why I don’t.” He sighs, looking up with a rueful grin. “My bed’s a little occupied. Some asian chick. I was tired, didn’t want to talk.”

 

"… Ah." Ja'far heaves a quiet sigh. "Then why didn't you come in here?" 

 

“Didn’t want to disturb you.” Sinbad rakes a hand sheepishly back through his hair. “Sorry. It’s been a while, I thought they might not come back.”

 

"Would it help to talk about it?" God, Ja'far's no therapist and he knows it, but when Sinbad crawls into his bed clinging to him and _crying_ , he sort of has to do _something_. "Or do you just… want to go back to sleep?" 

 

Sinbad knows, knows beyond a doubt, that he won’t be able to sleep again tonight. “Same stupid shit as when I was a kid,” he admits. “You’ve been in them since I was a teenager, I told you about those weird dreams, right?”

 

Ja'far nods, his expression shifting wry. "How I made it in there is beyond me." Slowly, he pushes himself up, though doesn't dislodge Sinbad's hold. "I can make us some hot tea, if you want."

 

“I’m sorry, you should be sleeping. God, I’m an asshole, I shouldn’t have come.” Sinbad doesn’t yank Ja’far down, but watches him stand, sighing out a breath. “I can go, if you want.”

 

The _look_ Ja'far fixes upon him is decidedly put out. "I just offered to make you tea. Do I _look_ like I want you to go? Here, just--" He plucks a rather large snake from its tank, and drops it unceremoniously into Sinbad's arms. "Hold that until I come back."

 

“Ah.” Sinbad shrugs gently, letting the pretty patterned thing wind around his arms. “Hello, gorgeous. Are you going to keep me company until your momma makes tea?”

 

"I'm not a woman, I can't be a momma," Ja'far tosses back with a huff, and disappears but for a few minutes. The tea he brews is a rather specific, sleep-oriented blend, and the cup is steaming by the time he brings it to Sinbad, gently peeling the snake away from him to replace it with the cup. "Here. You'll feel better after this." 

 

Sinbad takes a sniff, and his eyes lid almost immediately. “Ah. The sleepy stuff, huh? Did you put any drugs in it this time, or just herbs?” It wouldn’t be the first time Ja’far’s drugged him.

 

"I was afraid drugging you might make it worse tonight," Ja'far admits, dropping down onto the edge of the bed and letting the snake wind around his own arm. "You need to fall asleep naturally--or, well, mostly naturally. If you still can't after this, you should just stay home tomorrow and get back on a proper schedule."

 

“Or I could come here tomorrow night.” 

 

Sinbad drops his head onto Ja’far’s shoulder, eyes lidding already as he takes a slow sip of the tea. “I always sleep best when I’m with you anyway.”

 

"… I gave you an offer to skip work, and you didn't take it? You really must be feeling odd." Ja'far lifts a hand, slowly stroking it down the back of Sinbad's head. "You can come back tomorrow night if you want. But don't crawl into bed fully clothed next time." He pauses, face flushing a bit. "That… I mean, you know what I mean. Going to bed in your suits just ruins them."

 

Any other time, Sinbad would seize the joke, make a lascivious comment. Right now, the slow touch of Ja’far’s hand down the back of his head is the most comforting thing he’s felt since--

 

_Since he left me in chains, in tears, to save our people--_

 

He sucks in a slow breath, hands shaking, and nods. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll be here.”

 

Maybe he _should_ have drugged Sinbad after all.

 

"… Finish drinking that and you can use me as a pillow… or whatever it is you like to do." Ja'far carefully pulls away, long enough only to put the snake back into its enclosure before dropping back onto the bed. "You can still take tomorrow off, too, if you want. Just stay around here--though it sounds like you need to set some ground rules with your little pet."

 

Sinbad shakes his head at that, dismissing it. “I can go home, I’m not worried about it. I have no issue with him bringing a girl home, I just didn’t want to risk him wanting a threesome when I was exhausted.” He rubs his face against Ja’far’s shoulder, then drains his cup and snuggles up behind him. “Do you never have weird dreams?”

 

"If I do… I don't remember them," Ja'far admits, flopping back down entirely and simply letting Sinbad use him as some sort of large stuffed animal. "But that goes for all dreams. I think there's something wrong with my brain, regarding sleep." _It's for the best, because if I kept having dreams about you dying, I'd go insane._

 

“That’s for the best,” Sinbad murmurs. “Trust me...you don’t want dreams like this.” He exhales deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he tightens his arms. “You’d never be able to sleep alone either.”

 

"I'd probably never be able to _sleep_ ," Ja'far quietly says, and he curls back against Sinbad's chest, gently butting his head up underneath the man's chin. "But _you_ need to at least try to. I'll stay awake until I'm sure you are."

 

“Don’t bother.” Sinbad can already feel his limbs relaxing, feel his breath evening out. “I don’t know if it’s you or your tea, but I’m half there already.”

 

"Good." Even though he's _still_ going to make sure Sinbad is asleep long before he follows suit. 

 

Ja'far never dreams, but he dreams that night.

 

Maybe it's the tea fumes. That's his excuse, anyway, when he wakes not in a cold sweat, but oddly clinging to Sinbad in turn--

 

_"Just get your work done already!"_

 

The Sinbad in his dream is oddly _not_ so different, if not tanner, maybe a bit broader, draped in more clothes than Ja'far has ever seen him in and about as much jewelry.

 

 _"You can keep scolding me more,"_ is his cheerful response, and damn if that isn't Sinbad to the core, no matter what era he seems to have walked out from. 

 

_"Hey, stupid king!" Sinbad's face twists briefly, and Ja'far feels something akin to overwhelming disgust well up within his chest. That voice is so familiar, and the swing of that long, thick braid--_

 

Ja'far's face shoves its way into the other man's shoulder, an odd shiver creeping down his spine. He likes being the one without these sorts of odd _issues_. Probably, it's best not to even mention it. 

 

“Cold?” 

 

Sinbad’s voice is hushed, hopefully pitched low enough that Ja’far will be able to ignore it if he’s really asleep. He reaches up, shutting the window the inch he’d opened it, and tugs the blanket up over them. “We’re getting sea breezes tonight. I thought the smell might calm me down. Sorry if it woke you.”

 

"Ah… no. I'm fine." Ja'far shifts, rolling onto his back with a slow, measured sigh. "Did you manage any sleep at all?" he asks, eyes lidded as they slide over to Sinbad. Well, if he looks hard enough, he supposes the man _does_ look the part of a king decently enough. 

 

“A few more hours. It’s enough to get by on, for sure.” Sinbad stretches out, muscles aching as he does. “You should let me buy you a nicer bed. This one gives me a crick in my back, and I’m way too young for that.”

 

"… You're going on thirty," Ja'far wryly points out, and slowly sits up, stretching out his own limbs. "Hey, Sin… what made you pick out 'Sinbad' as your stage name?"

 

Sinbad laughs, folding his arms behind his head, relaxing back as his feet hang off the end of the bed. “First film I ever did for Rashid had an Arabian Knights theme. He had something tackier in mind, but I cut out everything but the first word. Really, there are too many nautical puns in porn for anyone’s own good. I liked the sound of ‘Sinbad,’ though. Kind of dangerous-sexy, and obviously fake so no one tried to stalk me by it. And it’s not as cheesy as Dick LongDong or whatever else people were suggesting.”

 

"I'd probably put you out of your misery if that were the case," Ja'far admits, shaking his head as he flops back down next to the other man. Sinbad _really_ is too large for his bed. He sighs a bit, watching Sin's feet dangle. "I don't know why I was wondering. I've never even given it any thought." Until he had a dream with scrolls and Sinbad's name written in some obviously arabic language--how long has it been since he's had to _read that_ , anyway? And it wasn't even the same as he remembered. Then again, dreams never make much sense, do they? He's over thinking this. 

 

Sinbad’s hand drops down to Ja’far’s head, tousling sleep-mussed hair. “I’m not the only one with a fake name out of an Arabian fairytale. And at least mine fits my heritage, close enough. I mean, my mom was Indian, that’s an Asian subcontinent, definitely close enough to be exotic. You never told me why the mob gave you your name.” _And I stopped asking years ago._

 

"Because I don't even know why myself," Ja'far protests, batting Sinbad's hands away. "Probably just to hide my identity when they sold me to another organization. I can't even remember the name my parents gave me sometimes, nor is it worth remembering." 

 

“Barely remember my own,” Sinbad admits. That’s a lie--he does, but only in the voice of his mother, murmured into his ear as a child. “I’ve been Sinbad for half my life, the half I can remember a lot better. Well, at least I can remember the boring parts.”

 

"Mmn. I wouldn't know what to do if I wasn't calling you Sin," Ja'far admits, and he twists onto his side, laying his head against Sinbad's shoulder. "Oddly enough, it suits you."

 

“Odder still,” Sinbad points out, “that you’re the only one who refers to a porn star as Sin. I always figured it would be obvious, but it’s just you.”

 

"… Really? I thought others would do it, too." Ja'far's eyes lid. "Maybe they're just intimidated by you. Honestly, you're kind of like a big puppy."

 

“I agree, I’m lovable and harmless.” Sinbad rolls over, nudging Ja’far’s shoulder with his face. “Why don’t you like the ocean? If lived as close to the beach as you do, I’d never shut the window.”

 

"I don't know." _It reminds me of home_ is what he wants to say, but that isn't right, when he was born in a village in the middle of nowhere with only a damned slowly trickling river for miles. Ja'far shrugs a bit, sliding his hands back through Sinbad's hair. "We can trade. You can have this place and all the snakes, good luck with them." 

 

Sinbad snorts. “I’ve offered you to come live in my place a dozen times. You’d be back here in a second, screaming at me for upgrading everything in here to the latest, comfiest models.”

 

"That's a waste of _money_." Ja'far snorts. "And you have a live-in boyfriend now. Way more maintenance than my snakes."

 

“Yeah, but you can’t feed your snakes leftover cheeseburgers. And they don’t co-star in films and make you a shitload of money.”

 

"I sell their venom on the black market."

 

“Of course you do.” Sinbad laughs, getting an arm around Ja’far’s shoulders. “That’s probably about as safe as letting Judal stay in my house.”

 

" _Judal_ brings his girlfriends home, apparently," Ja'far mutters, his lips twisting. "And I know you don't believe me, but I have a bad feeling about him."

 

Sinbad strokes a thumb up Ja’far’s shoulder, then down again. “I never said I didn’t believe you.”

 

"… But _you_ don't feel the same way," Ja'far points out, giving Sinbad's hair a gentle tug. "You should really stop thinking with your dick when it comes to him."

 

“I never said I didn’t feel the same way, either.” Some of those dreams are entirely too vivid for comfort, especially after he’d met Judal. “I just don’t think a bad feeling is worth hurting the kid over.”

 

"So you're going to wait until he does something to hurt you?" Ja'far sighs, dropping his forehead against Sinbad's shoulder. "I don't understand that logic."

 

“I _mean_ that he’s a good kid, and he’s never done anything to hurt me.” Sinbad raises an eyebrow. “It’s called the benefit of the doubt. I gave it to you, once.”

 

"I was indebted to you," Ja'far insists, frowning up at him. "That's different."

 

“And he’s living in my house, rent-free, and I got him out from under Kou’s thumb and off heroin,” Sinbad points out. “Just because he doesn’t live by some obscure Old World code of honor doesn’t mean he has no conscience.”

 

"You _say_ that, but…" A long sigh, and Ja'far shuts his eyes, annoyed. "Fine. Forget it. I know you're going to do whatever you want regarding him, anyway."

 

“He _is_ my boyfriend.” There’s a slight element of reproach to it. “A position I’ve offered to you many times, you know.”

 

"I am about as far from boyfriend material as you'll ever see."

 

“Mmm. I’d rather not date you, anyway,” Sinbad says with a grin. “We’re already pretty much married.”

 

Ja'far levels a stare at him. "So then you're keeping a mistress. Good luck with that."

 

“Men of power and wealth do that all the time,” Sinbad says, unconcerned. “At least the two of you know about each other. My conscience is at peace.”

 

"And here I was contemplating taking you out for breakfast. Pass."

 

“Are you saying you think I’m immoral?” Sinbad asks. “I’m not lying to anyone. I’m not hurting anyone. Want me to cook?”

 

"I'm saying I don't like your boyfriend," Ja'far bluntly retorts. "And there's nothing in the fridge except thawing rats, sorry." 

 

“Thawing--” Sinbad swallows hard. “Uh. Do they come with eggs? Because otherwise I’ll go for iHop instead.”

 

"We can do that instead. Relax, they're shrink-wrapped. You know how I am about everything being clean." Ja'far stretches, rolling away slightly. "I just need to feed everyone, and then we can go. Take a shower or something, you're still all weird from last night. You left your clothes here from last time, I washed them if you'd like to change."

 

“Perfect. You’re right, I’m...well. Smelly. That’s a good word for it.” That’s a good word for being dry after being soaked with a cold sweat. Good enough. “Sure you don’t want to join me?”

 

"… Give me ten minutes and I might." He can indulge Sinbad once in awhile, he supposes.

 

Instead of waiting, Sinbad gets the shower started, spending a good portion of ten minutes just letting hot water run down through the thick mass of his unbound hair, letting it trickle down his body as he stands, eyes closed, facing the spray. By the time ten minutes have passed, he can’t even remember the meat of the dreams, only reality, and that’s as much as he can ask from any shower.

 

Ja'far slinks in only a few minutes past when he said he would, stripping his clothes in short order and pulling the curtain aside to step in. "We _do_ both fit better in your shower," he admits, and he reaches for the bottle of shampoo and Sinbad's hair. "You look like you're feeling better now, at least."

 

“Much better. Remember to take compensation for all the shampoo I use out of the budget,” he says with a grin. “Need me to kneel for you to do that?”

 

"I can reach." _If I stand on tiptoe_. Sinbad really must go through a fortune in shampoo, because it nearly clears out the bottle by time he's done lathering up the man's hair thoroughly. "I'll never understand," Ja'far murmurs, kneading his fingers along Sinbad's scalp, "how you manage to put up with this much hair."

 

“I was born with it. It’s either put up with it or shave my head every day, and that’s a look that’s never appealed to me.” Ja’far has lovely fingers, quick and light and clever, and they work wonders in his hair, against his scalp. “Looks good on me, though, doesn’t it?”

 

"I think you are one of the few men that can wear this much hair and look good, rather than ridiculous," Ja'far admits, lightly digging his thumbs into the back of Sinbad's neck to quickly work out a lingering kink there before kneading in smooth, firm circles behind his ears. "Step under the water and wash that out while I do mine."

 

Sinbad lets out a slow groan, head lolling forward as he does as he’s told, then turns around. “Let me do yours. Any excuse to get my hands on you.”

 

"… Said as if you ever bother with an excuse." Ja'far doesn't protest, though, and hands Sinbad the bottle as he turns around. "At least mine's easy."

 

“But I like to have one. Then you hiss at me less.” Sinbad empties the rest of the bottle--definitely going to pay him back--into his hand, works up a lather between his palms, and starts threading his fingers through the fine shock of silvery hair. “Did your parents have hair like this? Or are you an albino?”

 

"Albinos typically have blue or even red-appearing eyes, you know," Ja'far patiently answers, obviously used to the question by now. How many times has he answered it with Sinbad in particular, really, and it's hard to be annoyed when Sinbad's fingers feel _good_. "My parents did have hair like this, I think. Most of the people in my village were very pale-haired, blonde or even lighter."

 

“Huh. That makes sense.” A tug towards him brings Ja’far under the spray, his back flush against Sinbad’s broad chest. “Your hair is so _fine_ though. It’s like it disappears when it’s wet, mine’s just as huge as ever.”

 

"That's probably the Indian thing." Ja'far sinks back against him, his eyes shutting as he lets the water run over him. Sinbad is as warm and solid as ever, and though he can't help but think about how they're wasting perfectly good hot water, this is still _nice_. "At least you don't have hair like Judal's."

 

“His hair is gorgeous, though.” Sinbad laughs, running his hands up and down Ja’far’s torso, slowly washing the shampoo away down the drain. “If you know so much about eugenics, explain the Rens. Red-haired Asians, what’s that about?”

 

"… Weird," Ja'far settles upon, wriggling a little in spite of himself. Sinbad's hands are _distracting_ now, and it's hard not to sag back all the way no matter how he'd like to, lest the curve of his ass press back rather… forwardly. "Probably dye." 

 

“Probably. The younger ones especially, that girly boy is bright pink. Creepy little shit.” Sinbad’s hands wander down to Ja’far’s hips, then the top of his thighs, hands squeezing a little more than they need to. “You feel good, Ja’far.”

 

"Ah…" Ja'far swallows hard, and there's _really_ no helping the lurch backwards now, not when his legs wobble a bit and Sinbad is just too solid and _warm_ not to lean back against. "Are you _always_ this touchy after a bad night's sleep?" he murmurs, and it honestly doesn't come out as annoyed as he wished it did, especially when his own hands slide down to rest atop Sinbad's.

 

“I’m pretty much this touchy in general,” Sinbad admits. His hands tighten slightly, and he slides them up, over Ja’far’s chest, as he leans down to nuzzle into the side of his neck. “I thought you’d like it better if you knew I were clean. Guess I was right.”

 

"It helps," he admits, exhaling a slow, hitching breath as his head tips to the side. "Does my OCD really come off that strongly? Don't answer that." 

 

“But I think it’s cute. Except when it’s the reason you don’t like my hands on you,” Sinbad admits, letting his teeth scrape gently over one curved ear. “You squeak so much when you’re anxious.”

 

"I don't _squeak_ \--" Except his voice does break a little when Sinbad's teeth set to his skin, and Ja'far shivers, his eyes lidding as he wriggles back, his ass sliding against the hardening line of Sinbad's cock. "We're going to waste all the hot water," he huffs out, his head lolling back against Sinbad's shoulder. 

 

“So send me your water bill. I don’t care.” Sinbad lets out a slow, even breath, hips rubbing forward in an easy rock, cock hardening every second more and more as he sets his mouth to the side of Ja’far’s neck. “Some things are worth the waste.”

 

"Holding you to that one," Ja'far groans, pulse _jumping_ underneath Sinbad's mouth, a whimper strangled into his throat as he swings one hand out to brace against the wall of the shower, giving himself a bit more leverage to arch his back and grind backwards. This isn't how he visualized his morning going. For once, he can't say he minds the change in plans.

 

Sinbad laughs, urging Ja’far’s supple thighs apart, letting his cock slide forward between them, sighing at the soft press of them on all sides. “When have you ever known me to be stingy with my money? Or….hmmm...unwilling to reward your….cooperation?”

 

Ja'far shivers, his eyes flickering down as Sinbad's cock slides forward, the dripping head of it just visible as it sinks between his thighs. He bites his lip, briefly shutting his eyes again when his own cock jumps, aching at just the _sight_. "S-so this is… cooperation?" he half-laughs, and hesitantly, he slides a hand down, swallowing when his thumb brushes over the head of Sinbad's cock when it ruts forward again, coming away sticky and slick even underneath the hot spray of water.

 

 “Well….you’re not pulling away, are you?” Sinbad’s grin is wolfish, and he moves forward, pressing Ja’far’s front against one tiled wall, sliding easily forward and back, letting the shampoo make everything slippery slick. “So I guess it’s up to you. What kind of reward do you want?”

 

The press of the cool tile wall against his flushed face when he rubs it there makes him shudder even harder, and Ja'far wriggles, reflex making him stretch onto his tiptoes to better arch back, his hands flatting against the wall. "Don't have to _reward me_ ," he groans, eyes fluttering as his thighs squeeze tighter about Sinbad's cock, feeling the pulse of it between them. "I'm not… you make it sound like you have to pay me--to do this--when I just _like it_ \--"

 

Sinbad chuckles, voice changing to a slow hiss at the squeeze of Ja’far’s thighs around him, and his hands tighten on Ja’far’s hips, pulling him flush. “Took me too long to get you in my bed,” he admits, nibbling on Ja’far’s neck. “Hard to forget it was so difficult I thought I’d have to bribe you at first. Just like that, press your legs together.”

 

"No bribing," is the huff to follow, and Ja'far swallows around another, broken noise, his thighs squeezing tight as his hips jerk forward when his cock slides against the shower wall. "And--logistics, but--I haven't been in _your_ bed yet."

 

Sinbad blinks, hips pausing as he frowns. “Huh. You haven’t, have you? That seems….odd. I want you there, that’s for sure.” He slides forward with a low, feral noise in his throat, sucking hard on the smaller man’s neck, pulling back for just a second to rub the head of his cock over Ja’far’s hole before sliding forward between his thighs again. “Want you everywhere.”

 

"Everywhere--within reason," Ja'far manages to agree when his voice catches in his throat, his head lolling forward. The throb of his own cock almost _hurts_ now, with every twitch of his hips against the wall driving him mad, and he groans as he ruts back, wriggling forward enough to let Sinbad's cock slip from his thighs again, all the better to slide his ass up against the hard length of it. "Feels good," he admits on a mumble, face flushing hotter. "I like it--when it's not quite in… but you still rub it there." 

 

“You like being teased.” 

 

Sinbad thrusts forward again, rubbing up this time to let the full length of his cock slide over that tight little hole, up, down, and forward again, so hard his cock is aching, _throbbing_. “Not gonna last long.” He slides a hand around, wrapping around Ja’far’s lovely, heavy cock, stroking slowly. “You about ready?”

 

Sinbad's hand makes his hips _jerk_ , an eager, needy little squirm thrusting his cock up into the rough, slick slide of his palm. Ja'far manages a nod, his mouth falling open to suck in a deep, ragged gasp, and that's _it_ , when he's already so hard and Sinbad is touching him and his cock is _almost_ inside him but not quite--

 

He comes with a lurch, fingers curling white-knuckled against the wall and teeth sinking into his lip to keep back a thoroughly incriminating whine as he spills, shivering all the way down to his arched toes, with his legs wobbling and thinking very seriously about giving out from under him.

 

It’s hard for Sinbad even to tell whether Ja’far spills first or he does, hot and wet over the inside of Ja’far’s thighs, rubbing it in with every last, ragged thrust as he sighs, wrapping his arms hard around the smaller man. “Good,” he murmurs. He kisses Ja’far’s cheek, sighing. “Really, really good.”

 

Ja'far flops back against him, his head rolling back to press against Sinbad's shoulder. "Get rid of your pet," he breathlessly mutters, "and I'll do that with you in _your_ bed." 

 

Sinbad lets out a groan, wrapping his arms tight around Ja’far, flopping back against the wall. “Had him for a month at most,” he mutters, “and I’ve had the bed for years. Why now?”

 

"Because I only just now thought it was a good idea to sleep with you. Ugh, the water is getting cold," Ja'far grumbles, reaching around to turn it off. "Stay put, I still have those extra large towels you like." 

 

Sinbad wrings out his hair for the first of many times, twisting and untwisting, hearing water spill to the bottom of the tub. “Yes sir. I love your comfy towels, where did you get them?”

 

"Amazing what a person can find when they do their own shopping," Ja'far drawls, pulling out a pair of towels--one for the man's hair, another for his body--and then one for himself. "Here. If you're still up for going out to breakfast, we can do that, or I can run out and get it for us and you can try and curl up again."

 

“Sleep is for the weak.” Sinbad towels off happily, trying to subdue the desire to roll around in the towels--they’re _obscenely_ comfortable, really, and they smell delicate and sweet and like freshly laundered sunshine. “Pancakes, on the other hand, are for the powerful and wealthy and attractive. Lead the way.”


End file.
